When a monk tries to kiss you, of course you say yes,
But next thing you know he want to get you undressed.
And next thing you know he’s like a rabbit in bed,
Humping and pumping and giving you head.
Olive and purple, overflowing and wild,
You spread like a garden, you hide like a child.
You don priestly robes wearing nothing beneath,
There’s something bout you, words, that ain’t what it seems.
You wanted ten thousand, so far you got two.
You wanted the strong ones, but weaklings will do.
You wanted to touch them, but now you’re not sure,
Outside they’re crusty, but inside they’re pure.
How can it be true, how can it be right,
That they can’t lift a log, but they can fuck you all night?
Has nobody required you to say what you mean?
There’s something bout you, men, that ain’t what it seems.
Something inside me is turning around,
It requires me to hide and keep my eyes on the ground,
And it’s shining and shining somewhere deep inside,
Now I’m wearing dark glasses just to keep it inside.
Certainly someday you’re gonna bust out,
Glittery figures will be dancing about,
Shimmering faces, both kindly and mean,
Yeah, there’s something bout you, fire, that ain’t what it seems.