You say it’s your berth day;
it’s my berth day too, yeah.
Which way is your berth, eh?
Mine is number 69.
Let’s clamber my berth way. . .
shack-up berth day—would you?

Let’s ascend and have a party, party;
I’ll descend and probe your parted part-she
you’ll descend and throat my hardened part-he.

I will hike down my pants (berth day),
and then display my lance (girth way);
we’ll be set for romance.
Fer de lance.

You will hike down your pants (berth day)
to display what enchants (berth bay);
we’ll be set for romance.
Fur de lass.

A lay on our berth day—
swell, but no birthday woo, no!
To allay a birth day,
I’m gonna keep my wood mined
in latex for berth lay. . .
cap the spurt sprayed to you.