| We meet up every Saturday,
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| Room number seven-o-eight,
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| He gets the champagne ready,
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| And I make sure I ain’t late,
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| Ready to, once again, explore,
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| As he begins taking off my clothes,
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| I could feel my heart racing,
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| As the time moves along,
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| I’m sprung on my booty call,
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| I get chills every time he calls,
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| It doesn’t feel right,
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| But it doesn’t feel wrong,
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| He does more than just turn me on,
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| Pressing me up against the wall,
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| He makes sure nothing gets ignored,
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| My body temperature rises,
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| As he wears nothing at all,
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| He’s keeping me satisfied,
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| I love the passion I see in his eyes,
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| I could feel the whole word shaking,
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| As he moves deeper inside,
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| It’s more than just a fantasy,
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| More than curiosity,
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| I just want him here with me,
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| It’s not infatuation,
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| He’s one of God’s creations,
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| Oh I wish that we could be,
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| It’s more than just a fantasy,
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| More than curiosity,
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| I just want him here with me,
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| It’s not infatuation,
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| He’s one of God’s creations,
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| Oh I wish that we could be, |