"You're the kind of gal I could get drunk with," I said. Then she took another sip and put down her cup And looked at the bartender as if enough is enough. Then I was running Through waist-high weeds. Feeling my boots sinking As I traveled through the marshes That circled your house and Stuck to my shoes. The stars hung high and the moon hung low. There was nothing in the lamplight that said No one's home. Breathing hard, I convinced myself That fire being fire, Earth being earth, There's some things sure like how Phillip's dirt always breeds The best cabbages and No one knows better bout Playing cards than Mr. Mitchell-- The one with the two scars. Nothing but a woman and a man. "Maybe so," she said Then she turned and left, Leaving me there alone with a glass full of whiskey. There's some things sure like The river running high Leaving marshes flooded and Leaving the higher roads dry. With only one way, I'll have cleaner shoes. But there's something nice about Swimming against the tide, Being swept back, Trying to sink in and stick in all the flooded places That have known too much rain.