Working Girl

I’ve made some money, But she’s made more. Knock knock! Another punter at the door. I slip on my shoes, Put my lipstick on. This man is eager, Again, comes a ‘ding dong’. He picks me, I should be happy, But I have to have sex, With this vile chappy. His eyes light up, As I give him head. The things you do, To butter your bread. Is it worth it, To make a few quid? I’m only doing this, To feed my kid. I want to punch him, He’s demanding “more” I get the urge to pick him up, And drop kick him to the floor. I fake on a smile, And do what he pleases. He is disgusting, He smells like four cheeses. The service is over, He chucks me a tip, Whilst looking at me, Like I belong in a skip. He leaves the building, Looking elated. I’m just a working girl, Who now feels degraded.