Her hair was cream cooling in the pantry br And her eyes were hot buttered scones br And her look was a pancake’s flip, one side done br And her teeth were fat oysters from Bantry bay br Her nose was that liqueur you can never remember the name of br And her back, her back, was Sunday apple pie br And her shoulders were risotto - sometimes rissoles br Her freckles were grated nutmeg br Her scent was crushed blackberries br And her last smile was fresh baked bread br And her song was sweet and sour br And her tongue was Mississippi mud pie br And her laugh was milk and honey br And her arguments were those strange dips from M