Robert Francis
"Where You Came From"

Sugar on the highway, something 'bout he way she moved made it worth my staying there. I might have been a bit abused.

Man she was a sweet machine. Coffee smokes out on my jeans. Slid across the bed like gasoline. Burned right, never kept it clean.

Not a girl in the city reminds me of you. Not a girl in the city reminds me of you. Not a girl in the city reminds me that you go home, all alone.

And no one knows wher you came from.

(Grazie a Manon per questo testo)