She tells you not to come unless you been here:
To church to get married; she tries instilling fear,
But most of all, do not do this, she makes it clear.
Don’t beat it, don’t beat it.

You’d better run away from your roving hand—
Don’t put it on, move it up and down your gland.
This whacking pastime has just gotta be banned.
Don’t beat it, though you wanna be jacked.

Don’t beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it:
Purity will be defeated
Strokin’ the monkey is not, she says, right;
Get your eyes off o’ that damned porn site.
Don’t beat it, beat it. . . .

She’s kinda fetching; I believe that my hand
Is wanking on my joint, which markedly expands
As her on news I spy after beating the man*
I beat it, lust-beat it.

I’m really going, and my thoughts are up there—
She’s playing the high fives; I’m in my bind-fives snare.
She’s bitchin’, so I’m beatin’
As my fantasies flare,
So—beat it: O’ makes me want to jack.

Lust-beat it, beat it,
I dream that I’m in her sweet pit.
Pokin’ that cunny, my prong feels delight
Then comes the matter that’s milky white—
Just seed it, seed it, seed it. . . .


*Mike Castle