Tame sitter, slow sitter?
No sitter, no quitter.
No sittin’, sof’ hittin’,
Sof’ hittin’, sole vision.

Waylays mattress pard when he’s in the groove;
stuffin’ that stuffin’s his feat.
He says, “Pillows no go, won’t got with the pillow flow—
don’t dig ’em.”

Sittin’, schvitzin’ , goin’gaga,
drippin’ liquid crystal clear.
It’s for sure a “love seat,” yeah, yeah.
He adores the mattress pard.

Veut-il la couche pour l’amour, oui, c’est sûr.
Motif pour la couche est impur.
No, no, no!

Sits set for a score; sizes, fluffs it up;
he loosens up by imbibing wine.
He’s been lacking a week; slackened action then peaks, yeah!

Itchy, twitchy part darts far, far;
itch for divine divan’s clear.
Can’t be beat, this “love seat,” yeah, yeah.
He’s prone, primed to prong a part.

Il désire la couche pour l’amour, pouvoir
sur la couche il a jour et soir.

Touchin’ fabric, feelin’ silky smooth. Ummmmm.
He’ll shtup some stuffing today,
if the hide ain’t Naugahyde…
likely to slide.
Zut alors!
Now he’s movin’…sofa-ride
It ain’t gray flannel outside
It’s silky and soft and sleek;
cushions malleable, won’t creak.
Bore, bore, bore!

Sette sittee là-bas? Naw naw!
Diggin’ in to sofa dear
It’s indeed a love seat, oh yeah!
He rolls on, then shaggin’ hard.

Il finit avec la couche, quelle amour!
Il finit, se couche à son tour.
Voulez-vous avec la couche faire l’amour?
He knows…craved, mastered the art.