servicio.

Chorus:

Two thighs, both alike in girth and sheen
 In fair España, where we lay our scene
 From carnal instinct now two hands unclean
 Where public self-service can’t be unseen.

From forth the nasty loins of that sick troll
 A girl running maintains self-control.
 Her shorty shorts ‘roused sexual offense
 In broad daylight, by that park fence.

Chorus exits.

So that dear friends, is what went down
 A few days ago as I ran ’round.
 I did not give him much a chance
 Running all the faster to evade his glance.

Spat up by the wood that betrayed me so,
 I thought back on the event, brow furrowed.
 Back in the States I’d call the cops;
 But here in Spain ’twas a lost cause.

So that mongrel got away scott free,
 Exposing himself ‘neath the pine trees.
 And I’ll never again wear my short shorts
 Of flexi-spandex among perverts.

DISCLAIMER: Spain, I still love you. And I’ve since worn my shorts. Because it’s hot as sin and now I carry homemade pepper spray