You ain't mean like no far ant, upon which I oft' tread. Cut from the best pattern, like a flannel shirt of plaid, You sparked up my life, like a Rattletrap shad. Yore complexion, it's perfection, like the best vinyl sidin'. Despite all the years, yore age, it keeps hidin'. And when you get old, like a '57 Chevy, Won't put you on blocks, and let grass grow up heavy.
Some men buy fine diamonds, from a flea market booth.
But for this man, honey, these will not do. For you are too special, you sweet thang you. Thank you for visiting my page at Angelfire.