Sinful Writing

Pigs

Boys who are kids, they love to play,

With toys and dirt, all night, all day,

Don't care of themselves full of grime,

As if clean white shirts is a notorious crime.

Boys who are teens, they love to play,

Breaking the hearts of girls they prey,

Lying about being single,

And destroying the hopes of girls they mingle.

Boys in college, they love to play,

Under the mattress, night to day,

Banging every woman at school,

Thinking it is awesome, up-to-date, and cool.

Boys in their thirties love to play,

And waste their lives in a bad way:

Break-ups and stuffs will cut their breath,

By smoking and drinking, at night clubs, to death.

Boys who're forty, they love to play,

With maids and cooks when wife's away,

With younger dames, single and free,

Smiling like a fool as they thrust their machetes.

Boys, in general, love to play,

On various things, in various ways,

They think of girls as we're a game:

As we're a plaything--that's so lame!

For I knew a boy once in my life,

Thought I could trust him, make me his wife,

But all he did was bed me and come,

And leave me lifeless when he's all done.

To make things worse, he left me a cell,

Which made my tummy blow up and swell,

I thank you, Boy, for being a jerk,

Reminds me that I'm more than a twerk.

So, you can't blame me, if I hate boys,

Who think of girls as nothing but toys,

For I think of them as pigs and fools,

No-good, worthless pile of stools.