Foul Taste

You tell me that you love me,

but I think that isn't so,

Perhaps you're only as fond of me,

as is a farmer of his hoe,

Still you take me to your bed each night,

there you have your way with me,

Why you treat me like you do,

that I'll never see,

Because each night,

after you've done your deed,

you say something,

that makes me sicken,

You compliment me on my sour thighs,

Then say I tasted like chicken!

(c) BAM