"my wounded heart's an iffy thing" or "emotional cockblock"
though lovely maids and lovely men fare better than my hand,
alas my soldier won't salute, nor at attention stand.
(nor at attention stand, my friends, nor at attention stand)
my wounded heart's an iffy thing that blocks me from a stiffy thing
a soaring rage and sorrow low both fill my soul with lead!
though heartbreak is an artist's fuel, it robs my pants of bread.
(it robs my pants of bread, my friends, it robs my pants of bread)
my wounded heart's an iffy thing that blocks me from a stiffy thing
i knew my heart in mourning would a grief too crushing bear;
i did not think these feelings might invade my underwear.
(invade my underwear, my friends, invade my underwear)
my wounded heart's an iffy thing that blocks me from a stiffy thing
no nectar sweet supped from the source can wind my sorry spindle;
nor teeth nor tongue, nor mouth and hands, can yet my lust rekindle.
(can yet my lust rekindle, friends, can yet my lust rekindle)
my wounded heart's an iffy thing that blocks me from a stiffy thing
behold, my reputation's lost! though some of it yet lingers--
i'd gladly play a pipe or conch with mouth and nimble fingers.
(with mouth and nimble fingers, friends, with mouth and nimble fingers)
my wounded heart's an iffy thing that blocks me from a stiffy thing
(alternative refrains:)
this heartbreak isn't paying rent but it won't let me pitch a tent
you'll see it is a grubby thing that disallows my chubby thing
my heart is so squeamish
it won't rouse old polyphemish