|
Sophisticated slave trade rhythmically admired |
|
Give me a punctual bliss |
|
He's in love with a velvet glove |
|
Soon he'll feel the fist |
|
His senses are reeling |
|
He can't sit still |
|
He's got that same old feeling |
|
The same old thrill |
|
The same old thrill |
|
Goose flesh, giggling, stimulating scenes |
|
Pleasure is a means to the end |
|
Hedonistic high time |
|
He can't get enough |
|
Physical encounters can offend |
|
Drinking like a fish out of water high and dry |
|
When there's no tomorrow he doesn't even try |
|
Don't take a walk, when it's easier to run |
|
Don't take it easy |
|
No don't take it |
|
Don't you touch the flesh, the fragile flesh |
|
He's never going to get near the heart |
|
He can prodel, he can poke but it won't get him closer |
|
He's only playing a part |
|
Across the threshold he feels his nostrils flare |
|
The stifling perfume is so thick in there |
|
Don't take a walk, when it's easier to run |
|
Don't take it easy, no don't take it |
|
Don't take it easy, Don't take it easy |
|
Don't take it, Don't take it |
|
Don't take it, Don't take it |
|
Don't take it, Don't take it |
|
Don't take it, Don't take it |
|
Sophisticated slave trade rhythmically admired |
|
Give me a punctual bliss |
|
He's in love with a velvet glove |
|
Soon he'll feel the fist |
|
His senses are reeling |
|
He can't sit still |
|
He's got a sort of feeling |
