S+M+M's

She sends me precious things with violins

Her phonograph records

My thoughts become disturbed they are worse than hers

I`m fuckin` demented

The marquis de Sade could take pleasure

Absurd games in all kinds of weather

It`s so obtuse there is no use

Sometimes I think that I should know better

Stick around for the nonexistent second verse

A diatribe verging on the perverse

The one line I`d like to cross

Does not exist

So neither do I

Happy birthday Mr president

All the best are dressed in cement

I know I`m not the one to blame

Sometimes I think that I should know better

She sends me precious things with violence

Her pornograph records

She`s fuckin` demented.