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.