She arrived on a Greyhound bus And she was young and so lean And she smelled like a smalltown church But she looked like a queen And I walked up and asked her name And she gave me a stare So i said will you marry me She just brushed at her hair She looked hungry and knew I was So she ate lunch with me Then she held out a greasy hand Rubbed the grease on my knee Maybe she's taken a vow of silence Maybe she's from some quiet island Or maybe she's scared of big city life, I don't know Maybe she's had a difficult life Oh c'mon baby just a word Just a syllable or two Take your pick, say a word Any word at all will do "Let's get funky" Well she's moved in with me, I guess We get funky a lot But she still doesn't say a lot Still she knows what she wants