She was pink hair, and punk, piercings galore
He was an everyday cowboy, nothing less, nothing more
She was giggle and bounce, in a fashionable sprawl
He was roll your own tobacco, with a slow texas drawl
She was wearing suede, feathers and glitter
He was in denim and hat when he came to sit with her
‘excuse me ma’am but could I ask for this dance’
polite, but not pushy, no hint of romance
her friends all twittered, ready for the put-down
almost fell from their chairs when she made not a sound
never taking her eyes from his face, she stood, tall and agile
but he took her hand and led her, like a lady so fragile
ignoring the fast tune with a funky rap beat
he pulled her close so their bodies could meet
leaning near, he kissed first one eye and then the other
nothing at all sexy, he kissed like her brother
but she felt it down to her platformed toes
she almost moaned when his lips brushed her nose
then with a finesse that blew her young mind
he swung into a dance of the funkiest kind
following the beat with moves that impressed her
while all of the time, his eyes they undressed her
nothing of her brother did he now remind her
her life as she new it was now far behind her
cause she knew before that dance was even half over
that she was trading her disco for fresh air and clover
as they left the club simply called '57'
the punk doll and the cowboy were a match
made in heaven