Love With a Marxist

I fell in love with a Marxist
She was begging in Tokyo
With a smile like dripping gold and scarlet eyes

I fell in love with a Marxist
She was trying to take me home
She said, "Let's seize the means of seduction and level the field"

So why when we got to bed
Did she steals the sheets and the skin off my back?
Why, when we got to work, was she atop me?

She was not a good Marxist
She knew nothing of Brecht or Korsch
I would quote the manifesto to blank stares

She was more of a Fascist
Always ragging on bourgeoisie
She never met a lower class she couldn't please

So why when I loved her so
Did she steal my heart and the money I paid?
Why was her productive means a cash machine?

She wasn't a perfect Marxist
But that wasn't a slight to me:
I'll keep paying to make her happy until it's free

Maybe I'll be a Marxist
I'll get a pipe and a smoking coat
And the next time I bed my girl we'll be equal in creed