Some girls like a mug around;
They entice him, dandled on their knee.
But my girl likes to slug and pound
'Cause you know she'd rather beat wimp me.

Tied up high, hung-up guy is what I am.
Belle will ply upon my can
Cat-o-nine, calls me "toad-man."

Her toy, I, she's cutting down;
She unkinks me and says, "I'm not through."
She says, "Boy! Kiss hem of my gown!"
But I say, "I'd rather lick your shoe."

Me oh my, beat-up guy is what I am.
Belt is plied upon my can.
Blacks my eye, calls me "toe jam."

Bash-bash-bash-bash-bash-bash bash!

Some girls on their mugs go down,
Bite their manhood dangled, on their knees.
But my girl tells me, "Slug, go down!"
But the blows she doesn't keep on,
Sheepish, I entreat, fawn,
My sweet retreats from beating me.

"Quid pro quo!" I beseech bleatingly.