(Country Song)

My love looks in the window and watches you sleep,
can’t you hear it scratching at your door?
My love howls at the full moon down by the creek,
it ain’t for sale in any store.

My love is a wild thing and and it can’t be trained
to do tricks to entertain your group
so put away that leash and that hoop:
my heart is not a poodle.

My love is wild, hog wild,
it ain’t for a sissy or a child,
it’s the hot stuff, not the mild,
don’t treat it like a poodle.

You can housebreak your puppy, you can housebreak your cat
you can even housebreak some bunny rabbits.
You can teach some old boys to wipe their boots on the mat,
but love holds on to its bad habits.

Passion hides in the shadows where it’s damp and it’s dark
to sneak out and bite you on the leg.
No, it won’t sit up and beg:
My heart is not a poodle.

My love is wild, hog wild,
it ain’t for a sissy or a child,
it’s sweet but it’s also vile,
don’t mistake it for no poodle.

Real love likes to run free like a fox or a cur,
it ain’t looking for no master,
so don’t be tying no fancy ribbons ’round its neck
or it’s gonna run all the faster.
I like the way you look, baby, I love how you smell
I long to be your very own,
but don’t toss me no old bone;
my heart is not a poodle.

My love is wild, hog wild,
it ain’t for a sissy or a child,
it’s the hot stuff, not the mild,
don’t treat it like a poodle.

(spoken)

It ain’t nobody’s lapdog.
Won’t wear no rhinestone collar.
Don’t even think about calling it “Fifi.”

– Tom Robbins
em “Wild Ducks Flying Backward”