What makes me love him? It's not his singing
I've heard his singing, it sours the milk
And yet, it's gotten to the point
Where I prefer that kind of milk

What makes me love him? It's not his learning
He's learned so slowly his whole life long
And though he really knows a multitude of things
They're mostly wrong

He's not romantic and yet I love him
No one occasion he's used me ill
And though he's handsome, I know inside me
Were he a plain man, I'd love him still

What makes me love him? It's quite beyond me
It must be something I can't define
Unless it's merely that he's masculine
And that he's mine