Love Song for Dagmar
Shes a glutton, shes no kitten; she can stuff her face for Britain
See her sitting in her Citroen, you can spot her from afar.
She is buxom, she is brazen, see her bottom, its amazing,
She is straining at the straplets of her cantilevered bra.
Shes an airship, shes a trawler, still I worship and adore her
Shes a randy landslide riding in her flash French car.
As a goddess, shes the oddest, and shes vulgar and immodest
Shes the empress of breast, she is my sweet Dagmar.
Shes no figment, shes no fragment, shes a fat fridge magnet
and shes sticking like a limp