Medieval Bush Lyrics - 3 Balloons - Stephen Lynch

Come, fair lady to my bed, we go, 

And verily sweet pleasures we shall know, 

Yet, where thy belly meets thy limb, 

I beseech thee give a trim, 

For thy bush doth overflow, 

My lady doth have a 70s muff, 

A 1470s muff hmmm, 

Zounds, its as prickly as a Christmas wreath, 

Think, it may hide some baby birds, beneath, 

Pray, shave it off to make a coat, 

There are fur balls down mine throat, 

Short and curly twixt my teeth, 

I sayeth not thy vagina is hirsute, 

But it looketh like thou hast buck weed in a leg lock hmmm, 

But soft, what hair through yonder girdle grows, 

To be or not to be put in corn rows , 

Oh, it is beastly and unruly, 

And it smelleth of patchouli, 

And that offends my nose, 

Thy sayeth not thou art fury down there, 

But it doth resemble Fidel Castro eating a London broil hmmm. 

Pra la la la la la la la la la la la la 

Pra la la la la la la la la medieval bush