I like her, she claims to be something;
I want to be her,
I can’t stop looking.
She wants to impress,
presents herself nicely.
I know what she wants,
she makes her parts look lovely.
She pushed her drink along.
“I like your watch,” I said, as she got down.
A few of the lads were looking.
The turn in the street
that led up a flight of stairs
through a second door,
where the windows looked across into back rooms.
Someone stood with her petticoat to the knee.
Around the open curtain came the evening.