Picasso in My Pocket

She gave me a postcard of Van Gogh from a

Little random state street thrift store

She wrote down her number and said did you know

That was wheatfield of wild crows

She said her heart done did her wrong

I'd give her mine but she don't have long

If a work of art is in a song

Would you buy the record and sing along

And I said

If I had Picasso in my pocket would you call it love

Would you call it love

If you got the beat and gonna drop it

I would pick it up

I would pick it up for you

I would pick it up for you

Would you call it love

Would you call it love

Picasso in my pocket

I told her all about my bad deeds

And how I cope with tragedy

She told me all about her travels

Then said I love you in Portuguese

I couldn't think of what to say when

She took the romance out the question yeah

I can't imagine though it makes sense

But we all wanna be human

And I said

If I had Picasso in my pocket would you call it love

Would you call it love

If you got the beat and gonna drop it

I would pick it up

I would pick it up for you

I would pick it up for you

Would you call it love

Would you call it love

Picasso in my pocket

Still buzzed from the rush of the Moscow mule

She's wali g me up and she's crawling right thru my head

I'm on the edge of holding on and letting go

If I had Picasso in my pocket would you call it love

Would you call it love

If you got the beat and gonna drop it

I would pick it up

I would pick it up for you