The Ballad of Dorothy Lynch

Dorothy seems sweet, but there's nothing natural about her.
She's pretty in pink, but her color comes from a can.
She's from Central Nebraska, but she flirts with a Southern accent.
Dorothy, how you ever gonna keep an honest man?

She put every scratch and ding in her daddy's old Honda,
But her new cowboy boots got scuffed up in a sweatshop in Uganda.
The gold in her hair, I am told, comes out of a bottle.
So, I'm afraid, does her deep bronze, spray-on tan.

It doesn't have to be gospel, it's just how you feel.
You don't have to be genuine for your love to be real.

The man she called John had never gone as far as Vermont,
But he was real sweet; he and Dorothy had a lot in common.
He'd been to Normal and Norman, but he kept on coming back
To the town where his buddies at the bar called him Hungry Jack.

His old car from high school, his ball glove, and other things he'd lost.
But the one thing he missed the most was Dorothy's bubble gum lip gloss.
There's no need for a young man to sit and watch cable alone.
When Dorothy came over, she joked, “There's no taste like home.”

It doesn't have to be gospel, it's just how you feel.
You don't have to be genuine for your love to be real.
It's not Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; it's just how you feel.
You don't have to be genuine for your love to be real.