Watch out for those girls. I know their types.
Didn’t I come from the same small town?
I know what they’re looking for,

wearing their innocence fashionably
hidden, longing for the unknown, the forbidden.
Watch out for those girls. I know their types.

Scheming… dreaming if only they could
give their souls away…they would,
hoping to find what they are looking for.

Didn’t I leave that same scorched town, closed down
with poverty’s door screwed tight against knowing?
Watch out for those girls. I know their types.

I know how judgement sits cruel for want of
nurture. How they would laugh at you for what they lack.
It is too late for what they’re looking for.

So hold yourself safe, my girl of the city.
Be kind, but close your heart’s door.
Your mama was one of those girls. She knows their types.
She found what they’re looking for.