Bonking in the back,
Fill the fuckerís crack,
And nine monthsí later, well, Iím damned, a baby!
At least, in some past time,
Now sinís no more a crime,
Not for the modern, liberated lady.
They go through such contortion
To justify abortion,
A womanís right to choose, I hear them shout,
A sucker on her minge,
A needle and syringe,
Legs spread and weíll soon have the damned thing out.
Itís fucking still alive!
Alas, it wonít survive,
They flush the crying foetus down the toilet,
She likes a bit of fun
So something must be done,
And she wonít let no little bastard spoil it.
Back To Poetry Index