This is a story
About the daughters of a particular man
Built from lack of affection and perpetual hate
Down, the ground up  he wasn't one many could stand

He was allowed six daughters though
By a wife who had more sense than he
One was given the throw
And the others had to stay with him and cope to be

He swung, flung and carried on
The girls struck with staying close
His only wish was to have a son
But nature never agreed, he was only offered a pink hose

And so he took out his frustrations
His aggravations
Punched, kicked and scolded his way through years
The children forced to stitch and oil the rusty gears

Soon, soon
The man became sick
The wife stuck, glued to his side
The daughters out in the world, the confusion thick

As he died, with an attempt at atonement
A hopeless cry for mercy to his loves
Suddenly present at his previously cancelled appointment
And the girls, his doves
Stayed close and kissed and hugged
Their brains washed and permanently infected with the evil bug