if i don’t have sex by the end of the week, i’m going to die
if i don’t feel a pair of soft lips on my own, oh, i’m going to hang my head and cry.
if i don’t feel warm breathe on the nape of my neck or feel a nice post-coital sigh
c’mon baby, you can tell the cops why…
and you don’t know the ice cold vice that grips my head
and you don’t know the burning i feel when i try to get out of bed
and you don’t know how these urges, all these urges, can be so very, very misread
c’mon baby, was it something i said?
when the sun, the stars up in the sky, you know it’s girl o’clock
i don’t know, but i’ve been told it’s so, you know it’s good as gold, you know it’s tick tock you don’t stop.
if i don’t have a nervous breakdown by the end of the week
i’m going to be very, very surprised | |
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