...and she sat at the edge of the bed, talking nonsense as usual
told her to get her things, needed sleep, now this was crucial
lit up a cigarette, taking her time, wouldn’t let me breathe
kisses in tow and my half naked *** just wanted her to split.

Another free bird, bobbing her head, refusing to quit
soaking the sheets without knowing I am already out of seed
you are a duck of another season and winter is not the spring
even if you spring back into my mattress you still gotta leave.

I never promised them the world, but I’m still a man of action
get my Barry White on and give it to them in a night of passion
never claimed to be James Bond if all they want is satisfaction
now if I broke the rubber ducky in 9 months they’d be contractions.

And they always got it and I always kept my Rolling Stones ways
and the more they loved it, they chained themselves to my bed
never caught an easy fish even if I already had them on the hook
I just had to reeled them in, could always tell by the way they look.

So here goes their poem, to the vamps never scared of the dawn
leaving marks on my neck, in the chair, desk, sofa and beyond
widows of solitude, promiscuously married, girlfriends of seconds
the queens of elevator ***, that turn my heavenly bed into an inferno.