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By coujeaux Date: 2005 Sep 25 Comment on this Work [[2005.09.25.15.24.22608]] |
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Pretty girl blues, she's everybody's baby, if only they could pacify her; dig that wah-wah riff, Dares ogling boys with look-at-these disease to be some choosy mothers; she's got their Jiff. Now, you want what she got, c'mon and give it your best shot; she'll reward an overachiever, Just ask around for stories 'bout her last-minute substitution from tight end to a wide receiver. But son, southward bound for her rose, take my advice, hold your nose; it's torturelung strong, She goes in for her pap that poor gynecologist put two hands in and clap and he don't stay long. Outfits two sizes too tight, if you ask, she just might; if this is a goddess, excommunicate my ass, 'Cause I've seen enough of the shake-that-thang, giggle-n'-jiggle act to cut myself off at the pass. One man's vamp is another woman's tramp, for sure; there's an ease to sleaze that's hard to deny, But when lowest common denominator becomes a sensuous dominator, might as well unzip your fly. A fella's a disgrace if he sees somethin' he wanna chase; girls who show it off, what do they expect? Known too many women who suppose removal of their clothes increases level of masculine respect. I've heard so much spin about the evil of men; you should be ashamed at being one of that kind, With their unconscionable desires, they're just a bunch of lustful liars with one thing on their mind. Me, I ain't least bit fazed by the way such epithets are phrased; I expect the give as good as I get, If ladies could build better specimens of beast I expect at the very least expectations would be met. Femme fatale, bring me a towel; to mop up sobstory tears of vast arrears in which malefolk are due, With any luck, here stops the buck and a hammer drops on crystal fallacy of "it's not at all about you". 08/11/2005 Author's Note: XXX XVIII, Poem #9. |