I want to bend ur wide *** over & reveal
what the sun is forbidden
to see; pagan witches dressed in black,
trade ur hard rags for finery
give ur children complexes -
black widows chopping the heads
off children parading them in the street
shouting 'I'm a terrorist! I'm a terrorist!'
how unfair that radical Muslim women
don't want to work as prostitutes of the
out-call variety; they might make a few
bucks on the mysterious striptease; I
can see that as a Bachelor Party thing;
but beyond that I want to meet a burqa-clad
stoner-**** alcoholic that likes to drive;
money coming in from Allah-knows-
where but she won't tell me; good; I'm
content to be her boy-toy; don't leave me
holding the bag; I'm not a spy or a traitor
[in case the NSA is reading this] this poem
is fiction; I've never ****** a radical
Muslim terrorist as far as I know; hell,
I couldn't see her face, she wouldn't take off
the veil & besides I ****** her from behind;
hey, man, cost me eighty bucks;
[they let me go] - now I gotta watch my ***