On de daily breadline

Lusting not fun at da buck some dish;
ogling might be putting me to shame.
longin' in da steamy hot tub fish;
a tin pan alley cat me whatcha name?

overture, a serenade, a dirge,
howling at da people of de mind,
limin’ pour de water on the urge!
I am tink’n what kind is this kind?

Da mallets hit de drums of sorroze past,
da steely syncopated ten-uh sound
wraps its arms in clasp sho’ not to last,
intimate in tie-me-tongue around.

Something causes dis mysterious low,
yanking at de power cord of my.
Outta blue den hard it hit me so -
unduh fuh duh grace of you go I