How can I be pure
With a girl and congress needs raging?
How can I be pure,
Spare my gland from you?

Gent's lever's high, gent's lever's high,
Gravitates toward you.
I wanna ply causeway, an invaginated slough.

Now do I grow, making once-pliant tube yew tree;
Prying two thighs can contuse me.
Touch it 'cause it won't go down.

Wench lever's high, wench lever's high, making way to you.
Your ample thighs compelling, peaking is my pair it's true.
Baby, it's not just hangin' down;
See my head strut; so big around;
It's not pithy; I can ream this spline inward,
So I prithee to love me, please do.

How can I be pure? I'm reeling, reeling, reeling, set to go.
I'm feeling, feeling, feeling set to blow. O.

My lever's high, my lever's high--
You'll palpate? Please do!
Don't want it dry? I'll gel it up, lubricated for you.

It's your pie, though, making once-pliant tube yew tree;
Prying preferred to abuse me,
Tucked in your cavern-cached mound.

How can I be pure
With a girl whose grotto needs mating?
Let me be impure. I'll immure in you.