|
36b. A frightfully PC drinking song © Bruce Goodman 15 August 2017 |
|
(The poetic form selected for this month is the standard habbie.) |
|
It came while I was drinking there, I only wish that you were here; I realize now our son’s a queer. You’re all to blame – You gave him wine to drink, not beer, And dolls for games. If he’d taken up a rugby ball He wouldn’t be a girl at all; He’d be a man with head held tall. WTF – He’s been a poof since he could crawl. I’m out of luck. So pour me out another drink, I’ll drown my sorrows now, I think. I’d rather not create a stink. My son’s come out; His mother’s genes gave him that kink, There’s not a doubt. So, slip me up a sleazy noodle Piffling dog shit in the loodle Go piddle on the poodle’s doodle. Another beer? All piss and fart and boodle roodle Your son’s a queer. |