She struts like a hooker; always was a looker, La Belle.

She has fire in her tongue, makes men feel young, La Belle.

Her legs like a graceful goddess, men are the oddest.

Her breasts bring out the savage, she never leaves baggage.

She has power over men, when she takes them to her den, La Belle.

She strikes fear in men’s hearts, she takes them apart. La Belle.

They said she comes from New Orleans, in a pair of skin tight jeans.

They say she’s like a wicked wind, prances her stuff while drinking gin.

There will never be another red head, not until the coffin dead, La Belle.

There’s a legend in the South, all about her wanton mouth, La Belle.

If lust is what you’re choosing then you’d never be losing with La Belle.

If you’re strong of heart willing to meet the tart;

a warning to all foolish men, stay far away  be smart…

A final word, she’s really all men’s dream, the Belle from hell.

A pagan snake, a primal scream that’s La Belle.