Frank Sinatra

Those fingers in my hair
That sly come hither stare
That strips my conscience bare
Its witchcraft

And Ive got no defense for it
The heat is too intense for it
What good would common sense for it do

cause its witchcraft, wicked witchcraft
And although, I know, its strictly taboo

When you arouse the need in me
My heart says yes indeed in me
Proceed with what your leading me to

Its such an ancient pitch
But one I wouldnt switch
cause theres no nicer witch than you