A Ballad For Clunge

Oh ladies, why won't you show me,
Show me, oh why why why why!
Perhaps a ballad could persuade your kind,
And my voice; warm, Scottish, and niiiiice.

Lady, I'm highly desirable;
I'm clean-shaven and tall,
I sing for you with all I'm able
It is for you that I bawl.

Lady, I write what is true:
I am no fan of grunge.
I sing about something close to you, yes,
All my songs are about clunge.

So why won't you show me,
Show me, oh me,
Show me your clunge later on.
Show me your clunge, show me your clunge,
So I may eat it like a blancmange.

Lady, I'm a poet; deeply serious,
Unlike those of dubious merit,
You can tell by my carefully chosen rhymes, plus,
the style of my beret.

Lady, I'm a singer/songwriter,
And so I must spray you with cum,
Doing so oils my faculties,
Just like lube in your bum.

So why won't you show me,
Show me, why me,
Why me, show me, why why why why?
Clunge, show me clunge,
Clunge clunge clunge clunge.
Why won't you show me your clunge
Lady, why?