We do it in the garden,
In the bushes – In the shed,
In the attic – In the cellar,
On the floor & On the bed,
On the dinner table,
WHAT A LOVELY SPREAD!
While the wine’s fermenting,
Someones baking bread.
We do it at our neighbors,
And in our old homestead,
Walking on a wire,
Hanging on a thread,
Pressed against the wall,
And standing on our heads,
In a van or car –
On a bike and a moped.
While watching Ellie Mae,
Daisy Dukes & Uncle Jed,
On the Boston Commons,
In Alaska – On a sled,
On a wooden ship –
With a keel of lead,
On a sea of blue,
Beneath a sky of red.
We do it when we’re single,
We do it when we wed,
And IF there is a Heaven,
We’ll do it when we’re dead!
LOVE STUCK BLUES
Birds do it, Bees do it,
and Busy Beavers, too.
Lions and Tigers and Elephants,
Wallabies and Kangaroos,
Turtles, Bears, and Monkeys,
On the farm or at the zoo.
So why are we TOO tired,
To do what lovers do?
We need a long vacation,
Or a HOT, exotic cruise,
A long, erotic Week-End,
A romantic interlude,
Free of life’s distractions,
Free from heavy shoes,
A cozy blanket on the beach,
To lose these love stuck blues.
RAPTURE
Who could resist a kiss from you,
Your raven hair – Sweet eyes of blue,
Your tender touch – Your fragrant skin,
That has broke the hearts of many men,
Your perfect breast – Sweet mound of love,
That men and woman both think of,
The smell, The touch, The taste of you,
Upon my lips and my skin, too,
Inside of you my rapture grew,
Your legs, Your hips, Deep eyes of blue.
