Just dry guitar at first—bright little strokes, already moving.

There she is, close and light, paving paradise like it's no big deal.

Pink hotel, boutique, hot spot—she's swapping living ground for places that sell a night out.

And here's the hook, easy enough to sing before the thought finishes.

Those shoo-bops make the parking lot sound almost cute.

Same bounce in the guitar, colder joke: they boxed the trees in a museum and sold tickets.

Chorus again—same warning, still no heavy slowdown.

Now she's talking straight at the farmer: put the DDT away.

Hear her soften on the birds and the bees? The band doesn't soften with her.

Hook comes back while that plea is still hanging there.

Screen door slam—this one gets small and personal.

Big yellow taxi takes her old man. Same tune, just somebody leaving.

And she goes right back into the public hook like the private loss fits inside it.

I said—like she has to push the same line one more time.

Now it's just parking lot and shoo-bop stacked until the song snaps shut still bright.