Hey there, Vagina! In my teens I spent my wages

Buying dirty mags with photos of you on those sticky pages,

Some air-brushed

While others were magnificently bushed

On the tush.

Hey there, Vagina! To my mates I lied with laughter

Well enough to win a BAFTA about all the girls I’d shafted;

There was Jean

And Jill and Jacqueline and Josephine

(I was 14).

 

Oh, what you do to me! The lure of your anatomy!

Oh, what you do to me you’ve done since my puberty

What you do to me.

 

Hey there, Vagina, you’re so perfumed, pink and pretty

But you need to point out to me that there thing they call a clitty.

God forbid!

I couldn’t point it out for twenty quid

And where it’s hid.

Hey there, Vagina, please forgive my lame excusing

But your geography’s confusing I get lost when I’ve been boozing;

All these bits!

I know their name; the problem for me it’s

Where stuff fits.

 

Oh it’s what you do to me. Oh it’s what you do to me

Oh it’s what you do to me. (These are just tautologies

From Plain White T’s.)

 

 

I’d really like to think I am a liberated, modern man

(I often pick my socks up off the floor)

When Tottenham lost I swear I wept, I know where our Bex Bissell’s kept

I’ve thrown my dirty books out of the drawer;

This provenance and history though pales before the mystery

Of those confusing flaps and folds of skin;

Where to begin?

 

Hey there, Vagina; she knows I love and adore her

With her labia majora and her labia minora

And G-spot

And clitoris which one girlfriend had not

No longer got.

Hey there, Vagina, all these terms I’ve learned to say ‘em,

Like the vulva, perineum, to the girls before I lay ‘em;

But it’s true

I cannot tell the difference on their flue;

I’ve not a clue.

 

Oh, what you do to me is all gynaecology

Oh, it’s all just Greek to me, this gynaecology

This gynecology.