There's a lot of lesbians in the harem of his dreams;
It's myth that he is making, in his tent, until he creams;
And when he wins the battle and cuts off captive fairy tales...
He can think of pretty pets and their sordid, sensual, screams.
As he rides home with bloodied heads in saddle bags;
To terrorise and frighten his harem off the scale,
He knows he'll fuck with them to satisfy his snoozing snail
That has sat between his thighs, until the filthy fight was done;
But he cannot rouse the girls with snails that won't unwind
And can't recall how to be loving and he just cannot remind
The lesbian slaves of daddy Sultan of his real need to cum:
A king of darkness pitching tent to sigh until he's done...