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.
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.
All piss and fart and boodle roodle
Your son’s a queer.