Don't warble for me on your stolen concertina
your clowns lacquered in putrid red paint
can crawl to pick up giros and cheap beer from Albania
and croak freedom choruses that but taint
as full fledged members suffering from noveau mania

a million and one times I have played cupid's arena
done it with top style leaving them faint
dipped in honeypots ripe in ecstasies delivered from Africa
to leave asking is this a love god or a saint
as rhythmic passion held tight in love from Cornwall to Jamaica

what don't I know or miss with my undoubted flair
I've jumped soft hot bones danced leaving trembling hysteria
in chambers of fifty and more and each left with a cheer
roses for maidens but what gives a stallion who deserves hyacinthia
know in love and fondest thoughts you own a worthy spear

so don't cry or warble for me on your stolen concertina
been there done it with elegance and without a feint
charmed and anointed as if by the Blessed Lady of Fatima
real exceptional the being modern yet so deliciously  quaint
with the slow hands and easy touch and passion like magma