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Blue collar poem
Oh husband, dear husband, I tremble with fear; You've been on overtime almost all year; And since you are gone till way late at night, A good piece of ass seems way out of sight. Oh husband, dear husband, please don't be a fool; Working overtime is wasting your tool; For better it is to be poor all your life, Than bring a soft peter home to your wife; I used to be happy as your little queen, But now every night you're nowhere to be seen; You come home from work just able to creep, I feel like screwing, but you want to sleep. Each evening, dear husband, you crawl into bed, Your intentions are good, but your peter is dead; I play with your pecker all wrinkled and dry, I get so damn mad, I could lay down and cry. I have pleaded with you dear, with tears in my eyes, I've played with your balls, but your pecker won't rise; So I'll find me a man who works eight hours a day, And while you're at work, we'll proceed to make hay. For in this whole world there is only one sin, For which there's no pardon, and never has been; And that is a man who is so foolish and mean, That he gives up his screwing to run a machine. Submitted by Curtis Edited by Clark Kent 
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