She’s a switchblade, blackjack,

Knuckle-duster dame.

Got the proper block and tackle,

Lash your rigging to the frame.

She put the drill press to your taproot

And the grindstone to your saber.

Good for sharpening your senses,

Keeps you on your best behavior.

She’s like a purgatory tourist on a Devil’s Island cruise.

She always likes to go commando when ashore.

She’ll buy a souvenir machete and a half-kilo brick.

She’s like the princess of the jungle.

She’s a hot yoga chick.

She’s a crooked fencepost notice;

Points the way to no return.

She’s gonna hammer your ceramics,

Twist your plot until it burn.

She’ll take your breath away at dinner

When she wears her cheese cloth gown.

And when yer chokin’ on a chicken bone,

She let her Heimlich slide on down.

She caught a splendid little fever in a splendid little war

And led the rebels on a chase in Cuban heels.

She had to bargain with the General, but she turned a cute trick;

She charged the soldiers for their bullets.

She’s a hot yoga chick.

Then, when Miss Lady Lotus Blossom

Choose to let her spandex slip,

She make you drop the jailhouse soap

And stack you like a poker chip.

But she’ll spring you on a night

The sheriff’s chasing wilding geese.

She’ll lead you to the Rosebud Room;

Reach for the sky and find release.

She orders top-shelf utkatasana

With an anjali mudra twist.

She’ll have you bending over backwards.

She’s a hot yoga chick.