No, Sir Paul, THIS is another silly love song

                                                            


Arble Jarble, Jarble Jarble
Run like a fox, run like chickens,
Marry me & we'll carve on marble
Rude little poems about Charlie Dickens

     
          I want to be two pounds of strawberries
          and a cup of sugar at most
          I want to make myself into jam
          so you can spread me on your toast
       
(HIPSTER VERSE:  To be played on mandolin & bass ukelele after drinking three espressos in Northcote)

I'll be a bitcoin billionaire for you babe
I'll grow my hair short, my beard long for you babe
I'll find a rhyme for babe that isn't Abe, babe
I\ll find a rhyme for babe but maybe if I change it to baby
I'll make that rhyme thing work, babe, well just maybe

            Love me in a pickle jar
            Love me in a tree
            This song-writing's harder than it looks,
             I need to go have a pee

I want to get a tattoo
Of you getting a tattoo
Of me while I'm
down on one knee
Singing lines of blank verse about you which exhibit a frightening level of obsession as well as
An inability to scan
Properly
Don't you see

Yeah ooh ooh yeah ooh yeah
Bring me an apple
Bring me a pear

Yeah yeah yeah ooh
yeah yeah ooh yeah
This could go on for quite some time
Could someone bring me a chair                ( rpt until thoroughly exhausted)



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