Amelie, Amelie with
your thighs of liquid honey,
Andy’s gone and sacked you
and now you’re on less money.
Your bitten lips and anxious smiles;
slams that came and went.
Andy huffed, puffed and
banged his balls until he was spent.
Fretting by the base line
in your amply filled jumper,
He saw he wasn’t winning and thought:
‘No good, I’ll have to dump her.’
Amelie, now come to me,
And let us play mixed doubles.
Show me how to serve down your tee
and sooth away your troubles.
I may not toss my balls
quite as high as Nishikori,
but let me approach you at the net
and shoot you with my volley.
Amelie, I’ll me make you smile;
on the ground we will lay,
Any surface suits me, I don’t mind,
hard court, grass or clay.
I’ll tease you with my groundstrokes,
let me feather you with my slice.
Drop my shot, serve out wide,
and take you to paradise.