What does she want, volcanic Venus, as she goes fuming round?
What does she want?
She says she wants a lover, but don’t you believe her.
She’s seething like a volcano, and volcanoes don’t want lovers.
Besides, she’s had twenty lovers, only to find she didn’t really
want them.
So why should I, or you, be the twenty-first?
How are we going to appease her, maiden and mother
now a volcano of rage?
I tell you, the penis won’t do it.
She bites him in the neck and passes on.