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Spare no expense on the chardonnay,
The girls won't drink horse's hay.
Slip in this pill to doctor her mood.
Then weigh your pay, paint your face,
Brace yourself to race her pace,
Or the date's a waste and all you'll taste
Is a pound of steamed slapped face
Served over some old slut's sloppy seconds.

In any case, your eyes strip her fine lace.
Leave no trace of her garmented facade.
It's all arcade game guns aimed at your veins
to stifle your gains, exchange pleasure for pains,
A matter of the stains you'll leave in her sheets,
Where you'll go after you've unleashed the beast.

Love is a fruit ripening on the vine
It grows much sweeter over time.
But too much time will rot the fruit,
New blossoms bloom and life resumes.
Love is a virtue to spread and consume
When love's to be had, one always makes room.

Her feast may come cheap if you know how to creep,
Work while she sleeps, look before you leap.
Let her think the price was steep
Let her think your heart she'll keep
Don't let her see your sharp, sleek mind.
Be kind, unwind, smooth sails you'll find.
Gaze in her eyes as she unfurls her tail.
Bide your time, the checks in the mail.