Re. DA ding a-ling kompetishun

when the beetles sang i wanna hold your hand
it was the echo of a rutting stags bellow  
an earth humping howl from the mississippi mud  
 
chucky's berries was right  
i want you to play with my ding-a-ling  
ain't no subterfuge nor metaphor nor  
innuendo ya hear  
 
just tongue clapping  hammers ringing  
hell(lows)  in nectar cup acoustics  
ding dongs whistling in your in door  
 
cause you ain't dead wood yet  
and when her hand smacks  
the pavlovain curves of her ass  
it's like a hells bells buckets of blood  
call to prayer feast for the hungry dogs growl  
 
bell(y) up to the table or bell(y) down on the bed  
the butter bread wine whiskey skin of woman  
is laid  by the southern cross of man