Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the belt loops for you, Darlin'
Am I the boots you'll be shinning?

Am I the rut you want your wheels in, Darlin'
Am I the Harley you want to be riding?

Am I the guy you want to hang your love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the mountain you want climbing,
Am I the trail you want to be hiking

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the belt loops for you, Darlin'
Am I the buckle you'll be shinning?

Am I the boots you'll be pull'in
Am I the song you'll be sing'in

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you will take your name?

I know that I'm the guy that needs your love'in
Will you take my name?
Darlin', will you take my name?

====
* I ain't no song writer, so have at it.  
Don't be bashful, you got any advice
on improving this ballad plez post,
including take that dang ditty out and bury the **** thang.

What do you say
when you have nothing to add
and silence doesn't seem quiet enough,

and the light through the window
dances on dust,

What do you say,
what do you say

when your bones are feeling like rust,
and your mind has two feet in the clay?

What do you say,
what do you say,
what do you say,

when taking the measure of each of your days
and there are many not stacking up?

What do you say,
What do you say?

===
* I ain't no song writer, so have at it.  
Don't be bashful, you got any advice
on improving this ballad plez post,
including take that dang ditty out and bury the **** thang.

If I had but one unqualified wish
I'd wish for N more,
and, of course, my dear,
I would split the lot with you.
Now the question,
would your first wish
make me your handsome prince,
an apple picker in the orchard of your eye,
or would you use one to magic wand  
a village stud to come and clear your snowy drive?

As lovers we've learned
that you are the immovable object,
and I the irrepressible force,
though our ****** subduction truly terrifies the natives,
and has spun much aboriginal lore,
they credit us with Monsooning the weather,
but looking back, my dear, see the adorable mountains we've made.

I'm your on call lover,
made to order.
I bring your heart to flutter,
your place, my place,
It doesn't matter.

I look to you to be a courtesan,
and not just in the bedroom arts,
there is great depth in this craft and calling,
how to conduct the delicate tête à tête,
stirring envy without rancor,
there is politics to master,
who is in and who is out,
and whose nose grows longer with every joust 'n bout,
the arts, must of course be mastered,
music, poetry, and painting
you must teach yourself beyond the basics
while leaving it to those that profess it their profession,
and there is the necessity of fashion
in polite manners, dress, and current bob 'n coif
so all eyes will rise when down the stairs you descend,
and then there's men,
study me, my dear, and to them, "amen."

When the night takes you
into it's dark and mysterious embrace,
and you travel ever downward
through chambers that have never seen
the sun's glowing face,
and faceless archangels carry you
bedeviled place to place,
and you tango, allegretto
with Dante in his chamber space,
and you wake breathless
with an ashen face,
It's my desire to be pillow side
kiss your forehead,
hold you close, reassure you,
that once again you're now safe.