couldn't have said it better myself
Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2002 11:51 pm
Rosie, Your letter is one hundred percent what I was feeling last night. I have these girl friends who are really offended by sexual words. In fact one of them told me that the word pussy was offensive to at least half the human race, what?!? I don't know. So I wrote a poem. Instead of biting my tongue, I bit my pen. And then I read your letter, and thought, this is why you don't make generalizations!!! And where ever Jack C is tonight, thanks for the first line . . .it got me started.
Tonight I love Tammy Wynette
Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy,
So does Dr. Suess, rolling double deuce,
and a splash of Vodka in my juice.
Honey bee floating on the sea far away from me
Makes me cry.
I like to see it lap the miles
And lick the valleys up
They say Miss Emily knew no men,
Sounds like she liked
To fuck.
A Gray man makes my heart turn red
And if he asked to share my bed
I know there’d be nothing else to do,
Except turn it to the color blue.
Sterility is diseasing my South
Too much coming from the mouth
OF girls
Instead of shutting up or going down
They talk of running into town.
Saying words like dick and cunt
Are far too rude and much too blunt.
Obscenity’s offending them
I think their fucking mouth’s the sin.
Psychoanalyze my men
Say their mothers dominated them
Criticize with a fingering care
Caressing wounds that were not there
Before they came
Before they came they took it deep,
But afterwards they fell asleep
And dreamed that they had never smoked a joint
Forgot that they don’t need to have a point
Covering wrongs
With a bandage made out of suit
That would look much better on a prostitute
Selling their dreams to a country club
Selling them to the financial den
Selling themselves to become men.
Feminism is a dirty word
But what’s really offensive is more absurd
My post- liberated lilies don’t have a clue
About sex or love or the color blue
Boys are talking of settling in
The winter’s here before summer begins
And my feet never feel the thaw
And wonderland is no wonder at all.
Women are trying to be my man
And honestly I don’t think they can
Driving his car or talking his talk
Like a flaking, dusty piece of chalk
Scattering traces that make me choke
On the stupidity of this double breasted joke.
My honey’s on the ocean blue
All the shades my heart’s turned to
And I don’t have a care or doubt
Except for when I’m down and out
And then I head out to hear the band
skip to Florida and miss Disneyland
Go right down A1A
To see my man for just one day.
And I’m as free as I’ll ever be
Six days out of seven
It’s just me
And liberation’s really grand
Especially when it’s not your man
Who’s gone.
Tonight I love Tammy Wynette
Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy,
So does Dr. Suess, rolling double deuce,
and a splash of Vodka in my juice.
Honey bee floating on the sea far away from me
Makes me cry.
I like to see it lap the miles
And lick the valleys up
They say Miss Emily knew no men,
Sounds like she liked
To fuck.
A Gray man makes my heart turn red
And if he asked to share my bed
I know there’d be nothing else to do,
Except turn it to the color blue.
Sterility is diseasing my South
Too much coming from the mouth
OF girls
Instead of shutting up or going down
They talk of running into town.
Saying words like dick and cunt
Are far too rude and much too blunt.
Obscenity’s offending them
I think their fucking mouth’s the sin.
Psychoanalyze my men
Say their mothers dominated them
Criticize with a fingering care
Caressing wounds that were not there
Before they came
Before they came they took it deep,
But afterwards they fell asleep
And dreamed that they had never smoked a joint
Forgot that they don’t need to have a point
Covering wrongs
With a bandage made out of suit
That would look much better on a prostitute
Selling their dreams to a country club
Selling them to the financial den
Selling themselves to become men.
Feminism is a dirty word
But what’s really offensive is more absurd
My post- liberated lilies don’t have a clue
About sex or love or the color blue
Boys are talking of settling in
The winter’s here before summer begins
And my feet never feel the thaw
And wonderland is no wonder at all.
Women are trying to be my man
And honestly I don’t think they can
Driving his car or talking his talk
Like a flaking, dusty piece of chalk
Scattering traces that make me choke
On the stupidity of this double breasted joke.
My honey’s on the ocean blue
All the shades my heart’s turned to
And I don’t have a care or doubt
Except for when I’m down and out
And then I head out to hear the band
skip to Florida and miss Disneyland
Go right down A1A
To see my man for just one day.
And I’m as free as I’ll ever be
Six days out of seven
It’s just me
And liberation’s really grand
Especially when it’s not your man
Who’s gone.