This is the story of a poet I know

He takes it easy and he talks real slow

They call him lazy but when push comes to shove

Lazy goes crazy for a real hot love

Dirty jeans and a whisky pour, he whispers

“Quoth the raven, nevermore”

Hot Love’s on the barroom floor and the poet says, he say’s

Just move in this general direction

Hot love, sweet nectar above

She’s either queen of the mean

Or she’s sweet as a dove

Carefully choose all the words you say

And you’ll be getting hot love

In each and every way

Lazy knew what he had to do

But all the other poets were coming in too

The poet sat back with his whisky pour

And he said, he said

Just move in this general directio