Текст песни Naked Dutch Painter

The naked Dutch painter does not want to fuck you
She’s got 17 boyfriends and an eight o’clock class to get to
She’s smoking hash all night with some coffee amaretto
She’s asking stupid questions about my groovy black ghetto
And the naked Dutch painter in the kitchen does not want to fuck you.

The naked Dutch painter in your bed does not want to sleep with you
She just feels like being naked
You don’t think you can take it but they’re next to you
She says, “Ghandi used to sleep next to two naked women”
But you’re not the Mahatma and that’s a whole ‘nother religion
And the naked Dutch painter in the bed does want to sleep with you

The naked Dutch painter in the morning does not want to need you
She missed her eight o’clock class cause she couldn’t get her ass up off of you
So you walk along the Rhine and jump back in the sack
If this is how they do it you ain’t never going back
And the naked Dutch painter in the morning does not want to need you

Talking ‘bout the naked Dutch painter
the naked Dutch painter
the naked Dutch painter
the naked Dutch painter
la la la la la la la la la la la la la la laaaa
la la la la la la la la la la la la la la laaaa

The naked Dutch painter in the gallery does not want to love you
She’s throwing fluorescent paint accompanied by a Mingus tape that she stole from you
Its performance art porno under trippy black light
She left with her professor, he can stretch her canvas tight
And the naked Dutch painter in the gallery does not want to love you.
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The naked Dutch painter in his arms does not want to see you
You are drunk and you are sore
You busted down professor’s door but he feels for you
So a wicked joint is rolled and mellows out your head
But you’re not feeling too bold when he invites you into bed
While the naked Dutch painter in his arms does not want to see you

Talking ‘bout the naked Dutch painter
the naked Dutch painter
the naked Dutch painter
the naked Dutch painter
la la la la la la la la la la la la la la laaaa
la la la la la la la la la la la la la la laaaa

So now you’re on your own in a freezing pay phone around day break
You’re feeling so shitty that your calling Culver City just to belly ache
But there’s no body home ‘cept your answering machine
So you write a stupid poem about the freaky shit you’ve seen
Like the naked Dutch painter in the morning sky who hovers above you

The naked Dutch painter at your door says she finally loves you
But she said “I’ll see you later” when she saw another naked painter sitting in the kitchen with you
Well she seemed a little shattered and she got a little pissed
When she saw that you were flattered by the fact that you’d been missed
While the naked Dutch painter at your door says....

Talking ‘bout the naked Dutch painter
the naked Dutch painter
the naked Dutch painter
the naked Dutch painter
la la la la la la la la la la la la la la laaaa
la la la la la la la la la la la la la la laaaa