You women always die later
And also are the first for varicose veins
Well, honey, I am looking fab
Would it amuse my son to know
That on the night of his conception
My jism thought its target was Cary Grant?
But Matt, don't let this f** you up
You'll find a woman, settle down
I want to hold him in my arms
And cradle him until his hair turns grey
And cradle him until his heart stops beating