Gentlemen, there's a mad woman after me,
Mad, gentlemen, mad as mad can ever be,
For it was but yonks ago when I loved her,
Sang my heart dry, but hers could not stir.
Yet today she would dare come to my door,
Pleading gruff to rekindle flames of yore.
With a lax bosom, I'm sought to be accosted,
With cheeks rosy then, now faded and pallid,
With eyes once so bright and now so leaden,
She would seek to vivify my long dead yen.
Say, gentlemen, is a man to be so slighted?
In the shadows of another's life, accepted?
Say, gentlemen, is a fellow to for so long wait,
Until his muse's knockers and keister deflate?
That he should be, then, favorably looked upon?
Is a fellow to halt his life if his love were gone?
Certainly not, for another has loved me well,
I must not for an anile grunter desert a belle.