By wordley |
Date: 2002 May 13
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On Monday she's dark, like a walk in the park in the dangerous hours of the night,|
Don't be amessing, or even TRY second-guessing what may spill from those lips held so tight;
On Tuesday she's better, a real go-getter, as the dirt fom her in-tray she deals
Whose doing what, to whom and how often, these are the secrets she steals;
On Wednesday she's prime, and lunch is the time to catch the tear in the bosses eye,
As she bends way down low to retrieve some lost notes, and says to herself " just let him try!!"
On Thursday she's humming, the weekend's a-comming, lets go get something new to wear
Versace or Westwood?...boy would she look good...but not on fifteen grand a year!!
On Friday she sizzles, down at 'club les frizzles',
she's had six glasses of Merlot already,
She's trying to dance, but she cant even walk on legs that are now so unsteady,
On Saturday she sleeps ,til way past noon 'cos when she sits up her head stays on the pillow,
Says she cant remember anything 'bout last night, who he was, where he lives, just " his name was Bill..ohh!!"
On Sunday she's chaste and of to church to repent for her week of impetuous zeal
And as it's Monday tommorrow, she'll give it a try 'cos this may be the best she feels!!