She came out of the bogs, she stank of damp dogs
With an Oxfam shop smell, her clothes were louder than
hell
Drowning out the jukebox
I avoided her stare by diving under a chair
But right next to my nose, a pair of stilettos
I didn't have a prayer
She shouts:
"Hey you, what you doing down there?
I were jutht tellin' the girlth about our affair-
How you took uth 'ome a week latht Thunday,
And made a meth before I got your knob out of your
undieth"
She's the tart with the heart, she's the bitch with the
lisp
Spreads the word and her legs, she's a gossip columnist
Look up in the 'phone book for the Northern part of
China
There's still one Chin that hasn't been hard-up on her
vagina
She was lying, of course. I made a bolt for the door,
But the loudmouth slut stuck out a foot, and put me
back on the floor
I crawled behind the plants to avoid her glance,
But before very long, the familiar pong - vaginal
deoderant
She shouts:
"Hey you, what you doing down there?
I were jutht tellin' your maytth about our affair
And if therth any chanth you could get thum medicathion
Tho you can avoid your premature ejaculathionth?"