FEIST...I WANT TO TAME YOUR SHREW

Feist has me unable to pen poems. Too much beauty. She's left me on Dylan's door, pining for refuge in her Great White North. Fiest...let's make hairy babies who can rip harmonies and write hits.

Go for Bob:

The drunken politician leaps
And the saviors who are fast asleep,
They wait for you.
And i wait for them to interrupt
Me drinkin' from my broken cup
Open up the gate for you.
I want you, I want you,
I want you so bad,
Honey, I want you.

At your service Leslie,
J-Stache