Pardon Me Mistress Satin Sue
Pardon me Mistress Satin Sue I said, but a baby pup is on your head.
She gave me an aloof look that most distinctly and clearly said,
“Leave me alone, you ingrate. Shovel yourself under the garden shed.”
I was intrigued and excited, for she is notoriously fine, quite well-bred.
Her satin gowns are a luxurious shade, rich in shadows, elegant too.
Haughty like her, expensive for sure. I stood downhill and gave a coo.
Fine, this woman of means, holding a rose under springtime dew.
Put into my place by her arrogant look. She is elegant, Miss Satin Sue.
She moved in a manner that swept romantical notions into the air.
Her formidable spirit showed she had no worries, not a single care.
Her bouffant hair was her pup, snoring in her pretty hair.
She gave me an obvious stuck-up, condescending stare.
Her pup began to stir, and she gave me a half ass smile.
So maybe her mother side dials her haughty back on the dial.
Could we ever become friends, this Virtue of Stuck Up-ness and me?
Frankly, this is not a scenario that I can ever truly see.
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