TO DO WITH ME

Standard

There may be lesser-crying, better-trying women,

Much more fun and better at puns than me.
And if you were a man for simple things,
Like flawless lives and smaller baggage,
My dearest, you might have no more to do with me.

But I know well enough that you are much more choosy.
I want day-to-day to find myself with you.
With the hand-in-hand, the word and song,
The songs and poems and the laughs and stories,
You surely can’t want anything to do with me.

A romance is supposed to go like happy-ever-after network,
Marking things with a regular ping  of “I like you!”
But there are days enough when the like is racked and pinioned,
Which nobody else knows better than we two do.

There may be better-placed and better tasting women,
Or toned and sightly girls more tight than me.
And if you were the simple sort of bloke
For Whisky sour and Rum and coke, oh
Dearest, you would have no more to do with me.

But there’s no such dependably stupendous man,
Hot as Hell, you can tell that I fell for you.
And lip to lip or cheek to cheek
Playing with toes or rolling some playdough,
My dearest, I hope you want every thing to do with me.

A romance is supposed to go like happy-ever-after network,
Marking things with regular pings of “I like you too!”
But there are days enough when the like keeps coming and coming,
Which nobody else knows better than we two do.

There may be smoother-talking, ruder, squawking women.
Better-spoken, much less baggage here than me.
But they’ve all got, as like as not,
Less love for you than I have got
Dearest, I hope you shall just make do with me.

There is just one-caress-and-leave-you-breathless woman,
One such tender, godless friend: that’s me.
And not now and then, nor if and whether,
But time and again for ever and ever,
My dearest, I hope you want everything to do with me.

Original words: Jake Thackray

Reworked badly by Linda Angel

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