If I don't have sex by the end of the week, I am going to die
If I don't feel a pair of soft lips on my own, I'm gonna hang my head and cry
If I don't feel nails in the nape of my neck, or hear a nice post-coital sigh
Oh c'mon baby
You can tell the cops why
And you don't know the ice-cold vice that grips my head
And you don't know the burning in my gut when I try to get out of bed
And you don't know how these urges can be so very misread
Oh c'mon baby
Was it something I said?
