It's not easy being a "kneezer".
I keep secret my hidden persuasion.
Other men sigh
For a boob or a thigh.
But I have a kneecap obsession.
That's right, I lust for knees.
And they must be stained or dirty.
Mud, soot or grime,
Or even some slime.
Ahh, to me a soiled knee is pretty.
Slap some vaseline or mayo
Upon a girl's knees so fair.
I'll slobber and I'll thump 'em,
I'll kiss 'em, then I'll hump 'em.
Filthy knees are a treasure so rare.
Other body parts don't affect me.
And even clean knees leave me cold.
But a kneecap with a little dab
Of greasy dirt or a bloody scab
Makes me hard as a brick of gold.
Gimme knees that are dirty and soiled.
Make 'em black, chinese or boiled.
I'll rub them with my prick.
Yes, I know I'm very sick.
It's an illness that cannot be controiled.
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