Love Poem

Here's to you, I'm glad that I metcha,
And now that I met you, I'm glad that I letcha,
And now that I letcha, I betcha I'd letcha again.

Here's to the drink that creates fire,
Here's to the drink that creates desire.
Not the kind that burns down shanties,
But the kind that burns down panties.

Here's to the qirl in the little red shoes,
She drinks my liquor, she drinks my booze.
She has no cherry but that's no sin,
She has the box the cherry came in.

Here's to the girl dressed in black,
She's dressed so fine, there's nothing to slack.
She feels so fine and kisses so sweet,
She makes things stand, that have no feet.

Here's to an hour of sweet repose,
Turn to tummy and toes to toes,
Then after an hour of such delight,
It's fanny to fanny for the rest of the night.

Now that I'm old and feeble,
And pilot light is out;
What used to be my sex appeal is now my waterspout.

I used to be embarrassed to make the thing behave,
For every single morning it would stand and watch me shave.
But now I'm getting old and it gives me the blues,
To have the thing hang down and watch me tie my shoes.

God made little boys, made them out of string,
He had a little left, made a little thing.
God made little girls, made them out of lace,
He ran a little short, and left a little space.

Thank You God.