Maybe I shouldn’t have had that third drink,
‘Cause words are pourin’ out faster than I can think.
The books, the movie, and the love affair;
The times, the weather, and the hooker’s stare.
Suddenly I’ve told them my life story
(Save for the parts that were a bit gory).
I’m breathing heavy and my cheeks are hot;
I’m feeling sweaty and my nose has snot,
And they all look at me with masked disgust
Like I was a braggart consumed by lust—
Like I’d raped and pillaged and tortured men;
And that I could never be one of them.
And maybe not—they are sipping good wine,
While my beer comes from somewhere much less fine.
But I would prefer not to be defined
By this cutthroat man and his fiendish kind.
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