The Girl From Molokay Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

My sweetheart is from Molokay
her hair is fiery red,
she was a prude and asked me why
I'd want her in my bed.

I said, my dear I need to know
if there's another patch
of ipsicolour down below
she said, you want my snatch.

No, I replied, it's not like that,
but while you're wearing jeans
I cannot see your pussycat
nor ascertain your genes.

You see, if red you are as well
wherever hair is found
it means that your cute citadel
(it's called the pubic mound)

is made of Royal velvet, yes
and worth a ton of gold.
We'll never know my dear, unless
you take this slightly bold

but necessary step, right now
let's do this thing, for science
we'll split the task, I'll show you how,
I'll search, you'll do compliance.