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