I know I’m better,
But I know you’re wetter.
That’s why you came in your favourite sweater.
So why don’t you just go out and get her?

Grab her by her peach Caucasian face.
Pull her by her yellow-corn locks of the Arian race.
Soak her up in leather and lace.
Maybe bring a weapon, just in case.

She’s nothing to me.
A weathered apple from the bordello tree.
You can eat her while you’re on your ****** knees.
You can drink the black wine of her aided disease.

You come here in your pin striped suit
Your pale pink tie and polished boots.
Well, I hope its worth it when she plays your flute.
In this house of ill-repute.
You can have your little *******.