I could complain if I felt the need wouldn't do me no good
I can't help the wickedness that festers in my head
But I've got to say I sorta feel I need to knead her bread

Maybe the stitches should be removed I'd like to see the opening again
But because of the way the incision was made things are worse than they have ever been

Maybe you won't show
You might get mugged instead
Maybe you won't show
You might get mugged instead

Down her skin drips the language of love
I drink the juice of the tomato and I read her languid book
Walk naked in her backyard in a wild and wooly hunt
Walk naked in her backyard in a wild and wooly hunt
Oh, that I were the glove on her hand I might touch her sloppy cunt