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There’s a hole in your pants, a hole in your pantsI want to be polite and look away, but I can'tzThough you may have a soul made of puppies and goldAll I know is the hole in your pantsThere’s a hole in your pants as spacious as FranceThe placement so provocative, it can’t be by chanceCause the green dragonfly on the skin of your thighDraws the eye to the hole in your pantsAnd how dare you make me chooseBetween proper pietyAnd my need to be amusedAt your fabric absenteeAnd how dare you make me stareAt the cloth that isn't thereYou've a flair for trouserwearThat’s tantalizingly bareAs you pose and you prance, I’m caught in a tranceUnnerved by my urge to steal one more glanceMy resolve going numbI confess, I succumbOvercome by the dumb little holeIn your pants From Letras Mania