In

Though his motives were plainly inferior,
Slowly the poor girl grew wearier,
Feeling some friction,
Then, stranger than fiction,
She found he was in her interior!

The getting

Having chased her and finally got her,
He worked her up hotter and hotter:
He lifted her skirt,
Saying “Hush, this won’t hurt.”
He was right, but no less of a rotter!

Hyphenated

He was crude, he blasphemed; she was shocked,
Yet, somehow, in a trice, was un-frocked,
And un-bra-ed and un-knickered,
Sweet-talked, and hard liquored,
Deflowered, and gone off half-cocked!

The price

He dismissed both the butler and maid,
And he pulled down the living-room shade.
He said “Sit by the fire.
Come, lift your skirt higher.
You know, dear, how well you’ll be paid!”