At My Desk With My Text
Studying late
Withour any date
On an April Saturday night
Makes me feel full of spite
Perhaps uptight!
Wonder about my would be companion
If she's with some sex starved stalion
Who'll perform some service
Better than when I'm nervous
Vice doth entice
Make intimacy splice
So now I just get a slice
And now sit on the ice.
Stale Bitter Ale Blues
The sky is cloudy
High cumulus hides the sun
Such is not a day on which to die
Though it depresses enough to cry
She's put me in a sour mood
Her actions so unfair and crude
Acting like a fickle prude
Though she's not ashamed when lying nude
She accuses me of acting rude
My feelings are growing quickly stale
Like a long oped can of bitter ale.
