Baby, open up your legs and let me lick your pussy. Baby, open your legs, please--let me eat your pussy. I'll go all the way down and up and around. Baby, open your legs and let me lick your pussy.
Well, you have a red rose tattooed on your hip. Yeah, you got a red and blue rose right there on your hip. I have a tongue that's hiding behind my lips, so let me lick your pussy, please open up.
Baby, scream and holler if you've a mind to. Scream and holler when the feeling's right. Baby, holler and scream if the feeling's right. Moan and giggle when I get it right. Smile and laugh in the night. Baby, open your legs and let me lick your pussy.
Showing posts with label blues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blues. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
197. Fate's Like That
I was walking down a country road. Dry yellow grass hissed on both sides of that road. Heat gave the scene of trees and farms a vibrating cinnamon hue.
--Came upon a fellow playing blues harmonica on his porch, a glass of lemonade at his feet, red threads apparent in his overalls.
"Sir, have you seen my fate?" I asked.
He paused his playing, wiped his mouth with a flannel sleeve. Men who wear flannel in the heat are to be respected, I have learned.
"It's right behind you," he said. I turned and look. Nothing.
"Oh! It moved," he said. "It's up ahead."
I looked up ahead. Nothing.
"Fate's like that," the man said. "Always slipping past you. His brown eyes were red-rimmed. "You thirsty?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," I said.
"Well, then, it seems your fate, which is here, is to drink lemonade on this porch with me. Come up."
"Thank you, sir," I said. Fate's like that.
--Came upon a fellow playing blues harmonica on his porch, a glass of lemonade at his feet, red threads apparent in his overalls.
"Sir, have you seen my fate?" I asked.
He paused his playing, wiped his mouth with a flannel sleeve. Men who wear flannel in the heat are to be respected, I have learned.
"It's right behind you," he said. I turned and look. Nothing.
"Oh! It moved," he said. "It's up ahead."
I looked up ahead. Nothing.
"Fate's like that," the man said. "Always slipping past you. His brown eyes were red-rimmed. "You thirsty?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," I said.
"Well, then, it seems your fate, which is here, is to drink lemonade on this porch with me. Come up."
"Thank you, sir," I said. Fate's like that.
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