Baby, You Know I Like To Be
bossed around in the sack, but don’t you dare
try telling me what to do anywhere else.
You do what you need to do,
and I’ll do the same.
My pussy is yours
when I say you can have some; otherwise
she belongs to me, and if she craves
a vacation with 2 or 3 different men,
it won’t mean
there’s any less for you.
You vacation on your own,
and I promise not to say a thing.
Possession is a dirty word,
a drug-related offense, and it offends me
when someone tries to put
a studded collar on me, cause I ain’t no bitch.
I’m a sucker for a bad boy
who drinks and swears too much, and I can deal
with all kinds of trouble.
But no yelling matches, and no crying
about how you can’t live without me
because you know damn well
I’m not your heartbeat
and certainly not your lungs
filling up as you sleep.
You’re not my man,
and I’m not your woman
unless I’m coming, dripping
my stuff all over you,
leaving rifts in the skin of your back
like a lioness scores the trunk of a tree
when she’s heated.
What I’m saying is
I love you
like a good woman should,
like a bright moon on a dark night
spotlighting you home
after the applause has died down,
so just appreciate me
while I’m here, knowing that
even when I disappear,
I always come back for more.
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