Now, for years, I've toured with dancers.
Young and male and hunky,
But they have no taste for women.
They'd rather get butt-funky.

Wishing they weren't somehow queer again.
Wishing they would cop a feel.
Frank is so dull, drills holes in my skull.
The irony's unreal.

Singing songs, dreaming of their shlongs,
Large and monumental.
I'm touring and Frank is boring.
It's driving me mental.

Tight leather pants squeeze while they dance.
Why can't they pants come down?

Wishing they weren't somehow queer again.
Why can not a one be bi?
Open my door, make me a whore!
I'll take it wet or dry!

Give me sexual, not just visual.
Give me lovin' that's most unsual.

Go between my thighs.
Go between my thighs.