There is a man named Mr. Purt
Money and power are his turf.
He rules the land with a tangerine fist
Misogynistic deeds always tops his list
He takes what he wants, no questions are asked.
Women are no exceptions in his take-over tasks
Greasy, slime-ball, a Neanderthal if you will.
Algae of the earth, pond scum, seeking chauvinistic thrills.
He encompasses himself with a cluster of men who think the same.
Narcissistic beastly creatures, I do proclaim!
Mr Purt is the leader of these evil clones
overcompensating with their wallets while he is perched on his throne.
Receding hair line over indulgent brutes
siting in the country club in their Armani suits.
Laughing and saying "All women are sluts and whores to a degree".
Puffing on cigars and sipping on their Brandy.
So, ladies, if you happen to see Mr. Purt and his entourage walk your way
RUN! RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN!
HIDE YOURSELF FROM THE ORANGE HAND!
Inspiration strikes,
Perspiration rife,
Takes a hold,
Yearning for footing.
Unexpected muse,
Self reflective tools,
She helps bring,
Healing and focus.
Charismatic tongue,
An automatic lunge,
From my minds eye,
To her purt lips.
I forgot a part of her,
Yet,
She knows a part of me,
Connected,
More so now than ever.
Thank you is,
Wasted verbiage,
I owe you though,
Gartered lineage.