Life is what you make it
As someone once observed
A phrase the sounds a trifle glib
But whoever thought it out had clearly never sorted out
The vexing problem of Adam's spare rib
Chastity, I take it,
Is specially reserved
For those possessing moral fibres
Mine fail me all the time
And maybe that's the reason I'm
A Baa Baa Black Sheep calling all subscribers
Time and again
I'm tortured with contrition
And swear that I'm sorry I've sinned
Then when I've got the whole thing sewn up
I must own up
Everything gets blown up
Freud could explain my curious condition
And Jung would have certainly grinned
When I meet some sly dish
That looks like my dish
I'm sunk, drunk, gone with the wind
How can I start afresh
When the sins of the flesh override me
Maybe some some psycho-an*lyst
Might slap my wrist
And give a twist
To what goes on inside me
If I could feign
The glandular transition
I'd settle for taking the Veil
Time and again I try, time and again I fail
Moralists disparage
A variable heart
And say that it should be fenced in
But they never think about
Effective means of casting out
That dear old die-hard original sin
Table d'hôte is marriage
Free love is à la carte
And once you've crossed forbidden fruits off
You merely find that you've
Unwittingly set out to prove
The age old saying "better with your boots off!"
Time and again
I've tried to form a credo
but some how I don't seem to learn
Just when I think my guardian angel's winning
I go spinning
Back to the beginning
I can't refrain from firing a torpedo abaft or ahead or astern
If I hit my quarry
I can't feel sorry
I'm hooked cooked done to a turn
Though I frequently wish
I could curb my conditioned reflexes
I'll be damned if I'll sacrifice
sugar and spice
to be precise nothing as nice as s** is
I can't restrain my lecherous libido from slipping and tipping the scale
Time and again I try, time and again I fail.