Patty Melted My Heart
I was sitting in the Hardee’s in Harlan, Kentucky
when Patty said we were through.
I laid my sandwich down on the table
and said, "Darling, please say it ain’t true."
I looked in her eyes across an ocean of soda,
I said, "Sweetheart, please don’t make me cry."
She said, "My mind’s made up. There’s only one question left:
You gonna finish that fried apple pie?"
(Chorus)
It was a fast food fiasco, a French fried disaster.
She sugar coated the truth, then left me soon after.
My courtesy card ran to two or three chapters.
Patty melted my heart.
I sat in the booth and tried to be stoic,
to accept my defeat with true grace.
I wiped away tears with the back of my sleeve,
left a big mustard stain on my face.
Patty paused at the door as she was walking away,
I’ll never forget what she said:
"Did you slit yore wrists when I went to whizz,
or is that just ketchup instead?"
(Repeat Chorus)
It was a fast food fiasco, a French fried disaster.
She sugar coated the truth, then left me soon after.
My courtesy card ran to two or three chapters.
Patty melted my heart.
(I published this as a Facebook note a couple of years ago. Since my circle of online friends has increased considerably since, I decided it would be fun to repeat in this space.)