Moonin’ from the window in my room;
cheeky’s this activity at noon.

I can’t imagine not showing my nethers
to people walking in the street together.
Upward they gaze and see my better halves from
moonin’ the crowds on the avenue.
Viewin’s not what they might want to do.

And when they look up they’ll see part of me,
and I don’t mean anteriorily.
Although some twisted people love to see me
moonin’ from the window in my room.
Freakin’ are the new bride and her groom:
“Gross, oh so gross!”

I’ll keep on spendin’ bummy days displayed;
lots of people down there will be dismayed.
I just hope there won’t be a police raid
and they’re arrestin’ me; I will confessin’ be…

…roomin’ inside a cell with a goon,
prayin’ that he won’t invade my moon—
don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t!

Moonin’ I’ll stop! No cops!