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
