My stomach does shots
Of nervousness
Every time that you're around

Anxiety rules
This stuttering fool
Searching for words to be found

My palms start to sweat
First chance that they get
At the prospect of holding your hand

I'm weak in the knees
A month of Sundays
As my pounding heart strikes up the band

I'd up and leave
Make a line like a bee
If my feet didn't feel like concrete

Maybe one day
I'll have the nerve to say
Would you care to dance with me