Oh, Kimber Lee, you make my timber spree, sprout to it’s proud four, ready to be tore; "More! More!" Hearing you shake to your core as you take the dick from fore to your shore, for you and only you I adore. As it slows to a trickle – but for you I’m never fickle – I stop the tickle and it wilts, my little pickle. And tomorrow I shade my sorrow, and to you I’m at again.
Oh, Kimber Lee, you make my timber spree, sprout to it’s proud four, ready to be tore; "More! More!" Hearing you shake to your core as you take the dick from fore to your shore, for you and only you I adore. As it slows to a trickle – but for you I’m never fickle – I stop the tickle and it wilts, my little pickle. And tomorrow I shade my sorrow, and to you I’m at again.