The fireworks last night
Gave me insight
To your insight
On *******.

This girl...
Counts the seconds using minutes
As far as the day is long
She's never been an artist
But still can draw a crowd

She likes pink and purple paisley
Because it goes with everything
Has a bird that speaks Pig Latin
And another one that sings

She bathes out in the moonlight
For an even nightly glow
She never steps on sidewalk cracks
Cause she loves her mother so

She shows up late to parties
So she can greet those first to leave
Takes advice from Sir Paul the knight
Knowing when to Let it be

Her bed is filled with China dolls
Not a one of them the same
She calls them all Sweet Lucy
As she knows no other name

This Girl...
Starts out in the middle
So she's closer to the end
Knowing that when she reaches it
She can start all over again

I play a one-stringed fiddle
To orchestrate my piddle.

I ate all the stars last night
every single one
Then I had a comet cone for dessert
Now I have starburn
and I'm burping up rays of light
that sunburn my throat

The comet cone was too sugary
So I let it spew away
Now I have to learn
all the new constellations
And of course
it's all Confucius

Some *****
Are like Faberge Eggs:
Irreplaceable
And needing
Coddling.

It was a sad day in May when you went away.
Sadder in June when you came home too soon.
To find April in the shower.

She works all day in a dead end job
And the money is not the best
The boss is a bit of a pervy ****,
Keeps staring at her chest.
Laughing too loudly, at unfunny things,
And tipping her the wink,
Hiding the lines of his wedding ring
Or so he likes to think.
Too-tight jeans and garish shirts
And teeth unnaturally white.
She'd like to kick him where it hurts
Even dreams of it at night.
He offers to take her to a bar,
Wherever she'd like to go
And he'd drive her home in his flashy car,
So nobody needs to know.
She nods her head and smiles her thanks
And makes a discreet phone call.
Her boss is as thick as two short planks and is about to lose his *****.
They enter the bar, he sees his wife
And knows he's out of luck.
He's either going to lose his life,
Or his wife's going to make him a ******

Men are mad dogs,
 women, finessed felines
we'd no sooner claw
    your eyes out
than admit you're right,
we'll undoubtedly,
without hesitation - -
use our feminine wiles,
to get our own way,
and you bloodhounds
   best get used to it
or no ***** for you
    tonight, or any given day

We've got the upper paw...MEow


And, if you're a bird dog
   well, that's a whole other story,
no telling what could happen

=^;^=