You're So Kinky, Mister Albert

You're so kinky, Mister Albert
You're such a freak when not behind your microphone
You're so kinky, Mister Albert
And you're really in need of a new toupee
for your shiny, receding dome

We're so sorry but word is spreading like a bad rash, today
That you're kinky, Mister Alpert
and your employment is no longer desired by the NBA

So you were hungry, Mister Alpert?
Cried you hadn't had a bloody bite since noon
But just because, you were famished
doesn't mean you can nibble at what's beneath her pantaloons

Teeth marks across her heine, heine
Scratches across her back
Bicuspid evidence is on her heine, heine
and abrasions mark her rack

Commissioner Stern notified the press
that a certain NBA analyst liked to wear a dress
as he dribbles in stilettoes and a silky satin thong
and matching hose — and painted toes
(The butter wouldn't melt like it did for Marlon Brando)

Teeth marks across her heine, heine
Scratches across her back,
Bicuspid evidence across her heine, heine
Abrasions on her rack

Get a little, while you're tipsy, fool around, fool around
smack her derriere when she's upside down
get a little when she's bound
Get a little, getting freaky , getting down
Go out now and paint the town
in your favorite Halston gown

Bite marks across her bottom, bottom
Your dental charts did you in
We may not know where your hair has gone, Marv
but we know where your teeth have been