Do you take this cake-baked angel to be your hot flash in the pan,
To sizzle and drizzle with hot sauce ‘til golden, and serviced where he stands?
I know my girlfriends don’t want me to marry you,
And I am well aware of what your dad might do.
But when you pass, oh how my pantin’ gives a start.
Only it’s not just my pants, girl, it’s my heart.
I want to marry you under the kitchen table.
I want to marry you in your dad’s favourite chair.
Exchanging vows, pulling each other’s hair,
Bring a friend along, girl, I don’t care.
Truthfully, lovey, I don’t think about much else.
I’m just the marrying kind, can’t help myself.
You’re just the bride to ride the rising tide
High enough to burst my love dyke open wide.
Say the word and it’s done.
No need to tell anyone.
Quick now, how do you spell fun?
(Satan and Hecubus: “M-a-r-r-i-e-d”)
The world’s problems are staged,
The powerless are enraged.
I hear our names being paged
But we’re heavily engaged.