Enrique was the man,
With a glint in his eye.
And an evergiving charm,
As he swaggers on by.
He had quite a way,
Of pursing his lips,
And then raising a brow,
As he's rolling those hips.
He seeks out the lady,
of more mature years.
Who loosen their purses,
As he tops up the beers.
His end is to see,
They give up the fight,
And stay 'til the dawn,
With him, all through the night.
A memory of Shirley Maclane.
No comments:
Post a Comment