Smoke swirling, fans twirling, sweat dripping off the stage
The mic spit guard offers no protection from the vile words, and POVs from the mouth of her, she’s screaming for attention and receiving no affection
From tales of misplaced lust and undeserved trust, because there’s a stink of male musk in these communal air ducts that must lather all stories
“Heard one, heard them all” they scream
“We want dick jokes and more jests about penis
How we’re from mars and women are from venus, Jesus!
What do you expect us to do? Bend over backwards just so people like you,
with one bad bedtime story, can no longer complain,
Don’t blame me, I have no apology, and will not say sorry on behalf of all men,
Blame it on them, barbie, I’m a natural Ken,
I’m prime time, sunday-roast model citizen of a man, I am,
But I’ll let you rant a little longer, and forget it all when I pass through these soundproof doors
Not all men are whores!”
She’s glowing, this is expected.
That’ll show ’em.
– Scott Sandwich