Tra-la-la

You insist that I frolick with you In this Garden of Eden you have set up in your backyard But I don't frolick, sweetheart. I stutter, While you hit me with your old school love Like a new age enlightenment And how classic your emotions can be Like the Bard at his worst while drunk with ale Or an Italian painter at his orgasm Dear lady, how you swoon me with your haves and have-nots That I look at you in contrast with you past YOu were a hot chick then And now you are pregnant with my ideas And in your birth canal grows the concept of my desire The desire to be with you until nothing is left But you and me