I feel you up, for hours at a time.
With two hands I grip you firmly.
Oh, what a myth, “bedtime.”
You’'re part of my favorite pastime,
And I'’m wounded I use you so stupidly.
I feel you up, for hours at a time.
I gaze upon you in the meantime,
Your square, ex, triangle, and circle buttons remind me:
Oh, what a myth, “bedtime.”
I'’m surprised I haven’'t been charged for the crime
Of abusing you arbitrarily.
I feel you up, for hours at a time.
What you do is sublime.
You allow me to experience worlds easily.
Oh, what a myth, “"bedtime.”
Your black curvy case I’'ve known for a lifetime
And I’'ll continue to stroke your joysticks, although guiltily.
I feel you up, for hours at a time.
Oh, what a myth, “bedtime.”
