The Chubby Traveller

I met her at a bus station one night
On the way to God knows where.
She thought she'd just met Santa Claus.
It was right after SHE SAID that
Someone else had called her a little tramp
And left her there as alone as I was, or thereabouts.
She wasn't going anywhere, it seemed,
And God knows I wasn't much.
She was overly inclined to drink and
She was equally disinclined to pay,
So she needed a lot of friends.
Together we made an undertow
Through that bar that night, though for her
it might as well have been through the nearest river.
We were, I guess, a disreputable pair,
Call it what you will,
She didn't like the whiskey and she didn't like me
And didn't want to pay (at first) for anything at all
When the darkness of night rolled around
In that cheap motel room!
Lord, she was a drunk.
But she liked to play with my belly
And bounce it against her own,
And like she used to hum relentlessly
In that boppy old Beatles song,
You know that can't be bad!