Sir Guy, You Make Me Squee (Yippee!)

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Sir Guy, You Make Me Squee (to the tune of "Let It Snow!)

 What a pleasure it would be to share a holiday feast with a certain tall, dark leather-clad henchman we know and love . . .

Oh the weather outside is freezing,

But Sir Guy you're oh, so pleasing--

 In your leather you look a treat,

Makes my heart, my poor heart, skip a beat.

On fresh roast beast, I'll watch you dine--

Stubbled jaw chew-ing-oh, it's divine!

Watch those lips with that sweet Cupid's-bow,

To that Cupid's-bow-who'd say no? (Not ME!)

In the firelight how your teeth gleam!

A-mazing with 12th cent'ry hygiene--

Your gorgeousness can't be denied,

Forget that Maz, honey, I'll be your bride!

When you finally bid good night,

Forget going out in the storm;

Set those smoul-dering eyes on me,

And all the night through I'll stay warm . . . (whoopee!)

 So be-my holiday hench--man,

My medieval hottie, darl-ing.

Stand beneath the mistletoe with me . . .

And I'll squee, let me squee, yes, I'll squee!


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