by P. Parker
The classic struggle of courtship for young lovers in perfect rhyme scheme.
|I walked in the room, collar popped|
Hair slicked back, and penis cocked.
My heart was pounding, but I kept my cool.
A man on the prowl for pussy drool.
I spotted a sweetheart across the bar,
Right up my alley and riddled with scars.
Her clothes were too tight and her lips were dry.
The perfect woman for me to try.
I don’t think they're people, women I mean
Just limbs on a gut with some holes in between.
The way I like whores is frail and weak
A woman who takes it, that's what I seek.
So I sauntered over, approaching this bitch,
Making sure my voice had a commanding pitch,
But still after prepping the encounter in my head,
I felt smaller and smaller with each inch that I tread.
My words had to be slick to woo this wench,
And guarantee a whiff of her pussy stench.
SO I stood up straight and said with composure,
“My cock and your gash should really be closer.”
She glared in disgust and turned away.
That stupid dumb bitch is probably gay.
No faggots for me, that’s just how I am.
A bachelor alone, that’s more my jam.