He stinks so bad, good gods, that I confuse
His arsehole and his mouth. Both so unclean
I hate to think just where they both have been.
An awful thought – if I were forced to choose
I’d have to kiss his arse. It doesn’t bite.
With horse-sized rotting teeth and bleeding gums
or gape like some she-donkey’s quim that comes
and drips. And yet he gets laid every night
or so he says. Perhaps he has some charm
for girls that I don’t see. Gods, make him grind
yoked at some mill, nose stuck to her behind
the she-ass. You, the cutie on his arm,
rather than have to kiss the likes of him
pick some blood-stinking torturer to rim!