Sheldon Allan Silverstein (September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999 / Chicago/ Illinois)

You gotta wake up every mornin', tip toe in the
kitchen cook me great T-bone steak
Serve it to me in bed go down the street and hustle
bring me back all the money you make
You gotta rub my body with sweet scented oil,
cool me with a 'lectric fan
Run to the church fall down on your knees say 'Lord
I wanna thank you for that man'
And I'll call that true love, true and sweet
That ain't the kind of love I'm gettin
but baby that's the kind of love I need
I wanna come home every evenin' to a great big meal
of wine and roasted pheasant
Say to me 'Shel this is Susy, this is Nell, I brought 'em
both home to you for a present'
Cops bust in and find my stash, you gotta tell 'em
it belongs to you
And when you're sittin' in slam tell all the other
chickies when they get out
They should look me up too
And I call that true love...(...)
Some guy accuses me of foolin' with his wife
and threatens to tear me apart
Points a gun at me, I want you to jump in the middle
and take the bullet in your own heart
And as you're lyin' on the floor and dyin', I want
you to look up at me and say
'Shel I'm sorry I messed up the rug, just roll
my body out of the way'
And I call that true love,...(...)
Movie people call you on the telephone
I want you to turn down the part
And when we're ballin' baby, ride my top
So I never strain my heart
And I call that true love...(...)