You picked a fresh, untouched daisy,
Said “it’s almost as pretty as you”
How many petals did you pick, baby?
I wish I only knew.
You destroyed my petals,
But they grew back as thorns,
With the steadfast glaring promise,
I wouldn’t again get burned.
In the field, I rose tall,
And spread my deadly thorns.
I rose from the ashes, honey,
Because my flower doesn’t burn.
You thought you’d dodge my thorns,
If you picked your flowers wisely.
Little did you know, babe,
That I was really poison ivy.