Did you forget that a woman is a work of art?
With maddening plastic packaging
Protecting her heart of hearts?
That's just the way it goes;
I knew you'd love this little red number,
And I love the smoke coming out of your nose.
Pffft, tiger, it really means nothing
That you love my pastry, sleek and tan;
You must worship my sweet custard filling
If you want to be my man.