Medieval Bush

Come fair lady to mine bed we go
 And verily sweet pleasures we shall know
 Yet where thy belly meets thy limb
 I beseech thee give a trim
 For thy bush doth overflow
 My lady doth have a 70s muff
 A 1470s muff, hmm?
 Zounds! It's as prickly as a Christmas wreath
 Think it might hide some baby birds beneath
 Pray shave it off to make a coat
 There are fur balls down mine throat
 Short and curlies twixt my teeth
 I sayeth not thy vagina is hirsute
 But it lookest like thou hast Buckwheat in a leg lock, hmm?
 But soft what hair through yonder girdle grows
 To be or not to be put in cornrows
 Oh it is beastly and unruly
 And it smelleth of patchouli
 And that offends my nose
 I sayeth not that thou art furry down there
 But it doth resemble Fidel Castro eating a London broil, hmm?
 Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
 Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
 Medieval Bush