Woman, Damn.

Woman. You've got them runner's legs, those yoga legs. And that waist to match. But those hips, that ass? Holy Moses. If you're ever tempted to even think there's too much there, just stop. Your shape, woman, perfected. Your shape: Woman. Perfected. Damn. Damn. You have no idea what you do to me. I see them hips from three blocks away and I. Am. Done. In.

I wanna take you to my room, press that chest against that wall, and I'll kneel down and pray, pray to that ass all night and day. Do things maybe nobody's ever done to you before - or maybe they have, how the hell should I know? But woman. If you're not into that, that's no problem. Priority number one, always: make them legs shake, make you know - know - that your body is as loved as your soul. However you like. And, woman, your soul is loved, like nothing else.

As for me? Woman, whatever you want. Whatever you desire, whatever you dream up, whatever fantasy you've never fulfilled, if it's with you, I'm game. Lock me up, throw away the key. Do I get to see you through that keyhole every day? I'm down. Anything. With you. I'm in. Woman.

Just walk them hips my way, and I'm yours.