What makes me love him? It's not his singing, I've heard his singing, It sours the milk And yet, it's gotten to the point Where i prefer that kind of milk. What makes me love him? It's not his learning. He's learned so slowly, His whole life long And though he really knows A multitude of things They're mostly wrong. He's not romantic, And yet i love him. No one occasion He's used me ill And though he's handsome I know inside me Were he a plain man I'd love him still. What makes me love him? It's quite beyond me, It must be something I can't define. Unless it's merely That he's masculine And that he's mine.
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