I'm the cigarette girl
in the pill box hat
I'm the waitress working night shift
I’m the girl in red stilettos
I’m the girl you followed home 

but I don't want your love
I just want your hunger

and I'll play the game
but I won't lay down
in a bed of blood torn roses

I'll make a place between my legs
for the tongue you serenade with
and the fingers that have learned to strum
but I've reserved a darker 
sharper cave
for the instrument you play
     I'll gorge myself on honey 

I'm the red-head in the rag-top Lex
I'm the blond in Daisy Dukes
I'm the girl in biker leathers
I’m the girl you want to bed

but I don't want your love
I just want your lust

and I'll let you tease
and grasp and thrust 
but I won't pretend 
     to die for you

I'll tie you to a kitchen chair
just to watch you straining;
to taunt you with my locks
I'll turn around and bend for you
my black lace garters stretched
I'll sweep the kitchen table clear
     and make you pray
to Jesus or his dad

I'm the new cashier at the drug store
I'm the coffee house barrister
I'm the jogger in the park
I’m the girl really want

but I don't want your love
I just want your greed

and when my body's finely tuned
when your moans and gasps have hushed;
     when your laying spent and breathless
I'll thank you for the work out
and leave my calling card.

I don't want your love
I just want your hunger.