Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
We read the paper and we pick the show,
I’d meet her there but my watch was slow
She came early and I came late
We never met
It was a hell of a date
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
The way we met, she was a friend of a friend,
They needed money and I had it to lend
She had five; she wanted ten.
I gave her all my money
So I got none to spend
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
She burns her biscuits and her gravy is strange,
Can’t fry a chicken in a microwave range.
Her salt’s tasty, her sugar’s sweet
No she can’t cook
But she’s got something to eat
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth