Prime Your Puppet

Makes you spring—will a nice pink do? Prime your puppet.
You'll do funny things, though she's made of spruce, prime your puppet.

She's been halved with a nice hole
Varnishing, you've got a wood role, for your puppet.

Purse up something lingual and kiss fir lips, prime your puppet.
Sand her fingers, burnish wood chips, prime your puppet.

Her little niche lifts your clumped pants.
All you gotta do is whittle your little man—
Prime your puppet, prime your puppet.

You're a painter boy; she is just a toy.
Paint her, like part of you, blue.
She'll be lumberfull, after you've poled—
Isn't wood made for a screw
To bind your puppet, bind your puppet.

Her enameling—is it pink or fawn? Prime your puppet.
Paint her real bright, so she'll shine on, prime your puppet.

Teat her good, with some light shading.
Just bust your puppet, you won't be fading, prime your puppet.
Yeah, prime your puppet.

Interlocking, caulking, filling, painting puppet,
He's sanded everything smooth—ready for priming now.

Interlocking, caulking, filling, painting puppet of buffed spruce.

He was filing on her face; he finished; it grew
Filled his roller, nappy; then his paint gun blew.

Primed his puppet.