Sue is, in no one’s
wildest dreams, a prize.
There is no balm or
cream that can disguise,
The tiny wrinkles that
surround my eyes.
Alas, no bounce will
ever lift my boobs;
Eggs do not traverse
fallopian tubes;
And K-Y must provide
all needed lubes.
My shape now most
resembles a fat duck,
And I move not like
Jagger, but like a truck.
This verse is the
sole place I’ll see a “fuck”.
Alas, all I can now
give you is brains,
And a laugh or two as
my rhyming strains,
As I strive to turn
lead into refrains.
Yet, I know I still
have things to offer,
Even though the boys
don’t want to boff her:
She still has a few
coins in her coffer.
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