Look at the sheer size of my hand
you see where I'm going with this
forget the parts of me you dont understand
I am built like a pumped up fist.
I'm Johnny Love-god-sex-machine
the ladies call me J.L. Sweet
cos I knock them right off their feet
and onto their backside
for that last ride
to pleasure paradise.
Walls crumble when we tumble
they call it disturbing the peace
for anyone that may doubt me in the least
one glance at my pedigree and all doubts cease.
I'm Johnny Love-god-sex-machine
the ladies call me J.L. Quiver
cos I make them shiver
in places they didnt know they had sensations
I am discovering and conquering entire nations.
They've tried and tried to dispell the myth
i exist in flesh and bone
I make them moan and groan
as we align our chakras all night long.
I'm Johnny Love-god-sex-machine
the ladies call me J.L. Butter
I make them stutter
like their mamas didnt teach them to speak
they break into tongues as they hit their peak
I'm the Love-god, the sex machine, the super freak.
3 comments:
seems sex is a ongoing theme in blogs this week
(sigh) ah... what frustration will do to u...
ROTFLOL!!!! It may not have been intentional but what the heck! this reminds me of those old superfreak movies where blacks wore super tight shiny outfits and declared themselves sex gods, it always had me dying laughing! this poem is fantastic in that spirit for me!
the good ol days of Blaxploitation, iwaya. LOL
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