lirik lagu stew - the naked dutch painter
la la la la la la…
the naked dutch painter in the kitchen does not want to f-ck you
she’s got seventeen boyfriends and an eight o’clock cl-ss to get to
she’s smoking hash all night
with some coffee on [unknown]
she’s asking stupid questions
’bout my groovy black ghetto
and the naked dutch painter in the kitchen does not want to f-ck you
la la la la la la…
the naked dutch painter in your bed
does not want to sleep with you
she just feels like being naked
you don’t think that you can take it
but they’re next to you
she says, gandhi used to sleep between two naked women
but you’re not the mahātmā
that’s a whole ‘nother religion
and the naked dutch painter in the bed does not want to sleep with you
the naked dutch painter in the morning does not want to need you
she missed her eight o’clock cl-ss ’cause she couldn’t get her -ss up off of you
so you walk along the reine and jump back in the sack
if this is how they do it, then you’re never going back
and the naked dutch painter in the morning does not want to need you
talkin’ ’bout the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
la la la la la la…
la la la la la la…
the naked dutch painter in the gallery does not want to love you
she’s throwing fluorescent paint
accompanied by a mingus tape
that she stole from you
it’s performance art, p-rno, and a trippy black light
she left with her professor – he can stretch her canvas tight
and the naked dutch painter in the gallery does not want to love you
the naked dutch painter in his arms does not want to see you
you are drunk and you are sore
you busted down professor’s door
yet he feels for you
so a wicked joint is rolled, and it mellows out your head
but you’re not feeling too bold when he invites you into bed
while the naked dutch painter in his arms does not want to see you
(laughs)
talkin’ ’bout the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
la la la la la la…
la la la la la la…
so now you’re on your own
in a freezing payphone
around daybreak
you’re feeling so sh-tty
that you’re calling [unknown]
just to bellyache
but there’s n-body home
except your answering machine
so you write a stupid poem
about the freaky sh-t you’ve seen
like the naked dutch painter in the morning sky who hovers above you
the naked dutch painter at your door says she finally loves you
but she said, i’ll see you later, once she saw another naked painter
sitting in the kitchen with you
well, she seemed a little shattered
then she got a little p-ssed
then she saw that you were flattered
by the fact that you’d been missed
while the naked dutch painter at your door said…
talkin’ ’bout the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
oh, the naked dutch painter
the naked dutch painter
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