Saucy Wench

You're such a saucy wench
To be offended quick
Create the cattle mind
Your breath is black as the pitch
You're so mealy mouthed
Your sausage hands there they roam and it makes me say:

It makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow...

You will make no move
With your wicked tick
Graceless bovine hips
Grateful adoring pounds
Devotion to fat hags
None of the hair is alive and all is dead

It makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow...

With your equine lips
Your cut is margarine
You took on locusts
Spasmatic hen white flock
You know you got good teeth
And for Christ's sakes we love your Englishness

It makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow, it makes me
Slow, it makes me slow...

You're such a saucy wench
When you come in on cue