More and more, I learn the madness, we men possess intern,
Secret, guilty master waiter? Apologise to your sperm!
Implications of a mind, humbled by a worm,
Try to wriggle out the answers, make the little fella squirm.
What the f@k I hear you cry, and what the f@k indeed,
Who was the first man to milk a cow, and who planted the first seed?
Why do we have our bits down there? Why do women have to bleed?
Nothing really springs to mind, when taking it with speed.
Frustration is an ugly thing when it rears its ugly head,
You can see it, crawling out of sheets, slyly sliding down the bed.
It creeps around late at night, making phone calls to your x,
It dresses up in lingerie, smearing Vics across your chest.
Wouldn’t dick’s make better fingers? You could waft away unwanted lingers.
You could ward away a pack of mingers, or peal yourself a grape!
A better place for the dick, would be way up high, above the hip,
Then when you fancied some of it, you could nod your stupid head.
But in your way with no disguise and every morning cock surprise,
Dingle dangling in your pies, getting gravy in your eyes.