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| HOOTERS GIRL |
| words & music by Alan Gillies |
| She brings me beer while I watch sports on TV, the way that God intended it to be, I love... my Hooters Girl. She never asks me where I'm gonna be, 'cause I'm already there as she can see, I love... my Hooters Girl. Strips, naked, more than a mouthful, Hot enough that she could melt the South Pole, I love... my Hooters Girl. Never complains when my friends stay for the game, or when I don't even remember her name, I love... my Hooters Girl. And never worries 'bout when I'm coming back, she knows I'll be there soon as I need a snack, I love... my Hooters Girl. Strips, naked, more than a mouthful, Hot enough that she could melt the South Pole, I love... my Hooters Girl. Cheesecake, legs, I love her pie, I don't ever wanna say goodbye, and everything's gravy after that... So hot, she makes my mouth water, don't wanna think that she's someone else's daughter, I love... my Hooters Girl. Strips, naked, more than a mouthful, Hot enough that she could melt the South Pole, I love... my Hooters Girl. |
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| NOTES People either love this song, or they hate it, but either way it's usually because they don't understand it. And so, we're always explaining it. IRONY. Tongue-in-cheek, not-meant-to-be-taken-literally, humourous irony. Because in the early days people heard the name HOOTERS and thought it must be a strip club, possibly because a few years earlier there actually had been a bar in North Main with the same name. The actual HOOTERS are merely a chain of sports-loving family restaurants. In the 11 years that I've been going to the HOOTERS in Winnipeg, the only bare breasts I've ever seen were soon covered in batter, deep-fried, and served to me on a plate with ranch dressing & curly fries. I-R-O-N-Y. So get over it already, you psycho-dyko feminazis, and give Pete Rose back his hair-do. (Me and my big mouth, I had to say it, and now I just know I'm going to get more letters, I just know it.) |