She ain't any taller than me,
that great blues singer Amy.
Though she's lost more pounds than me,
those tattoos of herself, I don't fancy.
But when she sings the blues,
I learn to forgive and forget.
It'd be crazy if we both met,
and I hadda force her to choose
between being a loser and a winner,
even if it meant giving up Blake,
who I certainly think is a flake.
Sadly enough, she ain't Anglican,
so we can't call her a rotten sinner.
When she sings like a girly man,
hitting those low notes as fast as she can,
I can't help but get a shiver
running up my spine as my guts quiver,
and my heart goes pitter-pat.
Oh God! Oh Dear! Why aint she fat?
Amy, Amy, Amy! Come back to rehab,
and become the woman you were meant to be.
She can't be anyone else cos she's our Amy!
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