Careless
W.C. Handy
Love, oh love, oh, careless love,
You fly right to my head like wine,
You've wrecked the life of many a gal,
And you nearly wrecked this life of mine.
If I was a little bird,
I would fly from tree to tree;
I'd build my nest up in the air,
Where the bad boys couldn't bother me.
Now I wear my apron high,
Now I wear my apron high,
Now I wear my apron high,
And he never, never passes by.