He was slicker than a game-show host,
Dressed better than a gangster or a millionaire on a date.
When the girls came out at night,
He could come up close and masturbate against their skirts
And flick his easy-open knife with skill,
As casual as if it were a cigarette,
And nobody could say anything about it.
He was a handsome devil and a dancer singed with fire,
A bright glowing danger to the ladies every night
And a hazard to himself and the real estate boys as well.
Just pray that your child doesn't bring it home one night
Like a frog in his pants pocket or some cute drooling dog--
You just know he'll expect you to pet it and to love it. |
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Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)