Prosecutor’s Song

(The PROSECUTOR emerges from under ISABELLE's balcony.)

[PROSECUTOR]
I always bolt the door
In case she flies the coop
You see, I'm not a total nincompoop
She is twenty-six
And I am forty-two
And so I lock her in
Well, wouldn't you?

Best to keep your chattels
Under lock and key
Best to guard your private property
If I found some dog
Was sniffing 'round my wife
Then I'd send the bastard down for life

Nonetheless, I must confess
I slip away at half past ten
Oh, by the way, did I convey
That I'm the Prosecutor General?

Isabelle is sweet
And does her best to please
But still, I have my secret fantasies
Someone who can cook
And moves a bit in bed
That's what I imagine in my head

Having wined and dined
Perhaps I might consort with ladies of the night
And find a floozy who can order me about
Someone with stilettos and a whip
Who'll make me grovel, make me strip
And as I'm taunted and abused

I can resemble the accused
Who's in the dock
A-tremble at his fate
I'll cower like a common reprobate

Every single time
I'm beaten by a whore
I go to court and even up the score!