by: david allan coe

i met her in atlanta
she was a-dancing in a cafe
with a price tag on her body
and a tombstone in her eye
you could tell she was not happy
by the way she kept on staring
past the other side of nowhere
at a man she'd like to try

and the make-up she had painted
could not hide the youthful motions
of her body
from the music or the crowd
i stared like all others
with my right hand in my pocket
while she showed us
everything the law allowed

twenty bucks an hour later
my one-bedroom apartment
i was feeling weak
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she was sweet, she was gentle
as she introduced my body
to some pleasures
it had never ever known

when i woke up in the morning
she was a-laying there beside me
like a kitten
with her face turned to the sun
and a look of satisfaction
on her lips that made me wonder
if she ever felt ashamed
of what we'd done

so i left her in atlanta
she was a-dancing in cafe
with a price tag on her body
and a tomestone in her eye
and i guess she still ain't happy
by the way she keeps on staring
past the other side of nowhere