It's a straight and narrow path, well defined,
yours was content next to mine.
Hers to the right, his to the left, the intersections a veritable mess.
When you treat me, be kind, I know I've crossed over my lines and into yours, but southern hospitality is what you're known for.
Pour me a drink, kind stranger, this is stranger than anything I've known before.
And I'm a guest, I get it, but I doubt you can get me out of your head.
I'm enjoying the tour though, my friend.
I'm from the straight laced, early morning-late night, stick up your ***, uptight class of those with grand plans of Ivy leagues and shaking hands with presidents and world class scholars,
and you from a more relaxed, kicked back, slow motion, 2.0 kind of world, surprising we get on so well.
It's probably the wee bit of **** in between us, because normally, the way you speak would have gotten you knocked on your ***,
instead I laughed.
So when our paths cross again, both a little wider, more winding,
remind me of the time we had and please, do come again,
Priss and *****, Mench and shmuck, thanks for hosting such a cliche new friend.