CORRECT LYRICS
Lyrics : Magic Fingers [Return Of The Son Of...]
Ooh the way you love me lady
I get so hard now I could die
Ooh the way you love me sugar
I get so hard now I could die
Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter momma
Try me on for size
Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter momma
Try me on for size
Ooh the way you squeeze me baby
Red balloons just pop behind my eyes
Ooh the way you squeeze me girl
Red balloons just pop behind my eyes
Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter momma
Try me on for size
Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter momma
Try me on for size
Do you really wanna please me?
Well, you know I do, babe
Well, tell me why you do it
I really wanna know
Oh, no, no, it wouldn't be right
For me to tell you tonight
You better tell me right away
Or I'll pack up and go!
Don't get mad
It ain't no big thing
You better tell me right away
Don't you treat me cold
HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT!
Well, there are a lot of reasons why I'd . . . I'd drag a girl such as yourself back to this . . . plastic hotel room and . . . rip you off for spare change to run a . . . to run a vibrating machine attached to this queen-size, bulk-purchase, kapok-infested, do-not-remove-tag-under-penalty-of-law type bed and . . . and make you take off all your little clothes . . . until you were nearly STARK RAVING NUDE! (Save for your chrome-with-heavy-duty-leather-thong Peace Medallion, heh . . . ) And make you assume a series of marginally erotic poses involving . . . a plastic chair and . . . an old guitar strap while I . . . did a wee-wee in your hair and . . . beat you with a pair of tennis shoes . . . I got from Jeff Beck
I get so hard now I could die
Ooh the way you love me sugar
I get so hard now I could die
Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter momma
Try me on for size
Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter momma
Try me on for size
Ooh the way you squeeze me baby
Red balloons just pop behind my eyes
Ooh the way you squeeze me girl
Red balloons just pop behind my eyes
Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter momma
Try me on for size
Open up your pocketbook
Get another quarter out
Drop it in the meter momma
Try me on for size
Do you really wanna please me?
Well, you know I do, babe
Well, tell me why you do it
I really wanna know
Oh, no, no, it wouldn't be right
For me to tell you tonight
You better tell me right away
Or I'll pack up and go!
Don't get mad
It ain't no big thing
You better tell me right away
Don't you treat me cold
HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT!
Well, there are a lot of reasons why I'd . . . I'd drag a girl such as yourself back to this . . . plastic hotel room and . . . rip you off for spare change to run a . . . to run a vibrating machine attached to this queen-size, bulk-purchase, kapok-infested, do-not-remove-tag-under-penalty-of-law type bed and . . . and make you take off all your little clothes . . . until you were nearly STARK RAVING NUDE! (Save for your chrome-with-heavy-duty-leather-thong Peace Medallion, heh . . . ) And make you assume a series of marginally erotic poses involving . . . a plastic chair and . . . an old guitar strap while I . . . did a wee-wee in your hair and . . . beat you with a pair of tennis shoes . . . I got from Jeff Beck
