Brawlers gave their votes and all that
Had [bad word] their souls for a sip
Of mothers cold and ancient wrist
Pitbulls came and went and wet themselves
Before they spent the extra timing
That it took to move their will

You're the kind of woman 
I would love to get my hands onto
You're the kind of woman 
I would love to get my hands onto

You're the kind of woman, Rebecca, I'd love to plough
You're the kind of woman, Rebecca, I'd love to plough

There's a valiant wall they built up right before the war
Of extra graciously pretending not to sleep
Pour the loving down of those preliminary notions
Of a dog inhaling what he saw and reeks

You're the kind of woman 
I would love to get my hands onto
You're the kind of woman 
I would love to get my hands onto

You're the kind of woman, Rebecca, I'd love to plough
You're the kind of woman, Rebecca, I'd love to plough