Hippie Lou, Hippie Lou,
Who skips to that song you do?
For that matter, who does you?
Who sings that healing song?
Who hums it to you all day long?
hums your schwann,
The shwann song,
The long one,
The one that just goes on and on,
and no doubt,
Up and down,
and in and out,
Hippie Lou, u might think me loose,
Writing this dirty Dr. Suess,
Would you, could you,
In a box?
Would you do the fox's box?
Would you box it up nice and tight?
and pry it open Friday night?
Doth it excite and delight,
Does it ignite,
your inner light?
My haunting gaze, and healing touch,
Both exude energy, and are such,
That haunting touch and healing gaze,
Will stun, be fun, and yet, amaze...
Your myelin, play like a violin,
electrified, and stylin',
If I were a virus, spyro-gyrous,
I'd be contageous,
Upstageous and outrageous,
Your cells would dance the Bossanova,
a colorful display, a super nova,
you'd glow in the dark like a night light,
and as you're more infected,
become a bright light,
Aglow with bliss,
and long to kiss,
Not one moist crevice would you miss,
Like an addiction, you'd want more,
Until you were liken to, love's willing whore,
Sweet as candy, these kisses deep,
Would prey upon you as you sleep,
A succubus, upon you like a plague,
"Cure me not!" you'd moan and beg,
Pushing you beyond previous physical limits,
You gladly go down, deep down in it,
Shaven smooth and slick with oil,
Wine it, dine it, without toil,
comes naturally, cums naturally,
and oh so satisfactorally,
The addiction wanes, then regains,
new positions, switching lanes,
you drive it home, again and again...
That free-wheeler, best call the healer!
Hippie Lou, Hippie Lou,
You've been infected, what--or who-- will you do?
It's on you like sticky goo,
stuck to your shoe, like icky-poo,
On your ass, like grass and morning dew,
Turn your head and cough,
Maybe that will get it off,
or get it on--you never know,
Most pockets may be just for show,
But this table's center pocket,
will take a shot, in the slot, like a rocket,
I could go on for hours, given the room,
But gotta save something for the honeymoon,
and save room for dessert,
I sure hope this shot won't hurt,
a little pinch, and a squirt,
will take you where the witches flirt,
Your own personal Val Halla,
Explodes from your head like a hypnotic mandala,
Your medulla will do the hula,
oblongatas will play sonatas,
Inagottadavita, glad to meet ya,
I'm the treat that's gonna eat ya,
haunt ya like the boogie man,
I'll make ya boogie--just cuz I can,
I'm caught up in this bad rap, like a bear trap,
Giving me a bad rap, with this bad crap,
so tell you what I'm gonna do,
I'm gonna wrap this up for you,
In a box, wrapped up tight,
Says, "Do not pry open til Friday night."
:-P []
