Clits and Grits

Mmm…

You better butter those biscuits and spread ‘em wide —

'Cause breakfast ain't the only thing hot on this side.

Wake up slow, sun kissin’ my thighs,

Steam risin’ where the hunger lies.

You bring the heat, I’ll bring the cream,

We cookin’ up a Georgia dream.

Eggs ain’t the only thing sunny-side,

When your tongue slides where I confide.

Grits on the stove, clit on your lips,

Let’s stir it slow with gospel hips.

Clits and grits, baby, that Southern bliss,

Drippin’ honey down to every kiss.

Salt and sweet, your mouth don't quit,

Feastin’ like a preacher on a holy clit.

Clits and grits — down-home delight,

Served all day and deep into the night.

Cornbread thighs and molasses moans,

Grindin’ hard on the wishbone.

You say grace, I say more,

Then you slide like butter on the floor.

Syrup drip, leg quiver twist,

You worship me like Sunday mist.

No table manners, no regrets,

Just southern comfort where it wets.

Clits and grits, baby, bless your hands,

Tongue like a skillet on my promised land.

You know just how to stir my mix —

Flippin’ me over for another fix.

Clits and grits, hot and bold,

You lick me clean, I lose control.

Ain’t nothin’ wrong with breakfast in bed —

Especially when I’m the spread.

So come and taste that peach preserve,

Let me give you what you deserve.

Clits and grits, baby, second helpin’s free,

Pour a little sweat in your sweet iced tea.

No shame, no script, just hips and grip —

And a long slow ride on that pleasure trip.

Clits and grits… mmm, don’t you quit —

This Southern soul knows where it fits.

So come and eat… nice and slow…

‘Cause baby, down here… we always know.