In the fifties in the USA It was sad, but at the time It was a rock solid fact; Flamboyance was a crime. I had to wear a coat and tie The uniform of every day Behaving quite the normal guy In every conceivable way.
To be a good Samaritan And genuflect at the altar, Wear the collar of a puritan, And not shame your father By being some kind of fool Who goes against the will Of a society that longs for A conformity inducing pill.
I gazed longingly at clothes Of fashionable panderers With the color matching garb That triggered the slanderers. But more than their profession I saw their ability to strut, The fit, the material display, The magnificence of the cut.
And I had trouble being That kind of person they craved. To me it was a boring ride From birth, right to the grave. I could not understand those Who felt life was not for living. What good were the gifts I saw If I refused their very giving?
Not for me, even when young To spend my time mud crawling. I would rather spend my efforts In verbal social brawling. I rejected insulting phrases that Proper people so often employ And chose instead the descriptive And openly proud ‘gay *******’.
I refused to let the common man Who was afraid of his own crotch Insist I be mute while he insisted That I should stand and watch. No, I would be who I was then And reject their false packet Of wearing the coat of social balm Which I called The Straight Jacket.