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.