Lusting not fun at dat rel bess dish;
ogling might be putting me to shame.
longing in the steamy hot tub fish;
a tin pan cat me-alley whatcha name?
overture, a serenade, a dirge,
howling at the people of the mind,
limin' pour de water on the urge!
I am thinking what kind is this kind.
The mallets hit the drums of sorrows past,
the steely syncopated tenor sound
wraps its arms in clasp sure not to last,
intimate in tie-me-tongue around.
Something causes this mysterious low,
yanking at the power cord of my.
Outta blue then hard it hit me so -
unduh fuh duh grace of you go I