by Michele Irvine

Itís your birthday, and between us gals,
Iíll keep your secret, Ďcos weíre close pals.
Just pay me later, Iíll never tell,
Cross my heart, or I go to hell.
Isnít it wonderful, youíve reached this stage,
To get this far, in hiding your age.
But youíre only as old, as the man you feel,
As young as your son, Iíd never reveal.
So just keep continuing, giving me my cut,
And Iíll promise you, sweetie, Iíll keep my trap shut!

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