Maria Sharapova

Maria Sharapova, Maria Sharapova
Just give me five minutes 
In the back of my Vauxhall Nova
You wouldn’t even have to remove your pullover
Maria Sharapova

I watch you play tennis
In the hope that you bend over
And pick up the ball
If I scored with you would it be love all?
(It’s a shame that you look like you’re still at school)
Maria Sharapova

You can beat me on synthetic
Grass and clay
It would give me great joy
To be your ball boy
Any day
So why don’t we make a getaway
In your Lada
In my wallet I keep a photo of you
From page three of Pravda
Maria Sharapova

Lyndsey Davenport – not my sort
Jennifer Capriati – much too tarty
Martina Hingis – always whinges
Boris Becker – tiny pecker
Martina Navratilova – prefers Anna Kournikova
Or Hana Mandlikova
Or Betty Stova
Or you to me
Maria Sharapova

I can’t get you out of my head
I wish you were the red under my bed
On the Russian Steppes together we could be wed
I’d like to ask you round for coffee
But I’m afraid you might say