My valentine is shirtless
In the basement,
Electric guitar slung
From his narrow shoulder,
His jeans riding low on his hips.
He’s Paul McCartney,
And much as I ask,
He won’t let me be Linda.
No, today, I’m some ex-Beatle,
Who was in
Thought to be the sweetest
And most beautiful
Boy in the band.
Yoko in her crib kicks
In time to the music
And sucks her fist with glee.
Just happy to be
Even an extra player
Back in the U.S.S.R,
I grab my microphone
And sing along.
