Medieval Bush

Come, fair lady to my bed, we go, And verily sweet pleasure?s we shall know, Yet, where thy belly meets thy limb, I beseech thee give a trim, For thy bush doth overflow, My lady doth have a 70?s muff, A 1470?s muff hmmm, Zounds, it?s as prickly as a Christmas wreath, Think, it may hide some baby birds, beneath, Pray, shave it off to make a coat, There are fur balls down mine throat, Short and curly twixt my teeth, I sayeth not thy vagina is hersooth, But it looketh like thou hast buck weed in a leg lock hmmm, But soft, what hair through yonder girdle grows, To be or not to be put in corn rows , Oh, it is beastly and unruly, And it smelleth of patchouli, And that offend my nose, Thy sayeth not thou art fury down there, But it doth resemble Fidel Castro eating a London broil hmmm. Pra la la la la la la la la la la la la Pra la la la la la la la la medieval bush --- Medieval Bush - Stephen Lynch