Her fruit was ripe, I bit
|
Her fruit was ripe, I bit
|
I¡¯m nothing more than a humble mongrel
|
whippet cast, rash and unabashed
|
|
Her fruit was ripe, I bit
|
Her fruit was ripe, I bit
|
pungent juice wept from the bruise
|
where the skin was sluice and slobbered on
|
|
though the meat was fleshy and sweet¡¦
|
she purred, while I grrred
|
|
I die every day, to live every night
|
under the industry of her want for me in our fusty foundry
|
please no ceremony, I want she, I want she, not matrimony
|
|
My fruit was ripe, she bit
|
My fruit was ripe, she bit
|
in her belly lay a pip
|
a¡¯brooding in the oozing
|
|
My fruit was ripe, she bit
|
My fruit was ripe, she bit
|
huffing and puffing on the mattress stuffing
|
upon the bunk a fervent funk
|
|
in my butcher¡¯s hands her soft fruit tendered, She never pretended¡¦
|
she purred while, I grrred
|
|
I die every day, to live every night
|
under the industry of her want for me in our fusty foundry
|
please no ceremony, I want she for laundry, I want she so I¡¯m not lonely
|
|
-----------------
|
She Purred, While I Grrred
|
| Wild Beasts |
