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.