A hymn for the coffee

Bless the coffee that passes between her lips,
'cause the caffine gives the woman a nervous twitch.
When she crossed those big white thighs, what I saw could hardly have been intended.

And her skirted suit it implies to me,
She should not chastise so calously,
As the woman who shared my bed and wiped my brow for the past three years.
And my true love don't drink her coffeee like her,
Don't wear lipstick like her,
My true love, she is cursed.
And my true love don't swing her hips like her,
Not got those sassy curls,
My true love, she is cursed.
Hope the morning coffee does the trick,
Hope it clears my mind makes the day more worth it,
Cause the devil in me and the deep blue sea are entwined as on since that girl
winked at me.