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

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