I’m not even sure what number this is 

I’ve been listening to her since I was a kid

We are contemporaries

Trying to figure out this life can be scarey 

Born in ‘88 and ‘89

I love the way she can pen some rhymes 

And add music and dance to it 

I just leave my words on the page 

But I guess the words are both our escapes 

I wonder if she would have hung out with me and my best friend 

Back in 2007 in that room over the garage 

Where prank calls and giggling 

And country music were a sort of soul lavage

Our Song and Tim McGraw 

Were what we listened to when we made our calls

Me and my best friend were slow to grow up

But her, maybe not slow enough

When did those country curls turn sleek

What happened to being clothed and meek?

Is Hollywood sellout inevitable? 

Or is this just what happens in adulthood?

Either way, she’s still incredible 

Maybe she’s misunderstood 

I wonder if she’s at all like me, and would go back in time if she could

I wish the new stuff weren’t so explicit 

Is this really what she thinks?

Just a little, my spirit sinks 

I can’t sing along 

It feels a little wrong 

But my husband says there is a time to be explicit 

But I like to keep things implicit 

It keeps the mystery 

Lyrics and poems are keys

To the soul, even to reality

Even if she’s explicit

I think she’s really gifted

I hope she’s herself under all those lights

Like the girl who got started around 16

She’s probably just like my friend and me 

I hope in all the new dresses she’s living her dreams 

Because now we’re all adults in the big city

I hope she and my best friend are giddy 

I hope it all turns out alright 

From the room over the garage to the the stage under the spotlight 

Slow or exciting 

Explicit or implicit 

Either way, gals, keep writing