Namesake.

Don't let that halo get you, honey;

She'll tear you a new one night after night.

A body from the Heavens, but a soul from every Hell,

Though you make her an angel in your mind.

They call her Piccadilly Lilly, the woman they all want.

With eyes like stones, but sensual stones, you see.

The curl of her body like circles, entwined;

And that flesh so milky even babies would cry for her.

And yes, she'll offer you that drink in her hand,

But nothing more, not without working for it.

She'll spin circles around you after you pop up like she wants,

But she won't come down without good reason.

They call her Piccadilly Lilly, the angel of sexual favors.

Granted you can get one out of her, something more than a tease.

She'll bounce those lovely breasts, the golden curls;

As you salivate, hoping she'll bounce on you as well.

Don't let those red lips get you down, they'll die too.

When her perfect body weathers into normalcy, don't cry.

She's a vision, a vision of every demon you never saw.

They call her Piccadilly Lilly, but you can just call her Bitch.