so long ago, i don't remember when, that's when i'd say my lust start'd making sense
i'm dissed, my pride's seething and i grope for male esteem, it's given by the men who make me bleed
i'd see the sons running up in the nude, up from the pond, they were soakin' up masculine bonds
i've always felt a jealous rage, i've never felt like one of they,
i blundered, i've been numb, i found i'm gay

hey come on, guy, don't piddle, know yourself as debtor
or wanna-bee, even tethered man in the middle
cuz we have been there, fella, we put it all together...we can like his bone, it's some mens' spite

he said it's owed, it ain't any remembrance day, but the channels show gays' feigned pride parades
as the lust of we is gropin', needs someone "real," who lives to be true to sense of masculinity
and i feel the slice of his head shootin out some fine jizz, sayin, "aw, that's good, but in your ass is best,"
i scanned his will, it's out of testosterone, and there's nothing left; this is the end of lust, i will amend

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