DebaucherybyCal Y. Pygia©
A few women, perhaps, diehards
Among their sex, hold fast yet to
The hope that love is in the cards
Although all that men say and do
Shows neither candy nor flower
Outlasts passion, and sex is lust
Not for pure love, but for power,
Which men pursue 'til they're dust.
The battle of the sexes shows
Women's hearts are not what men seek,
But the pussy, which God bestows
On them, willing that they be meek
And mild, passive recipients
Of the seed that men sow in them,
Even when the sperm is misspent,
Filling mouth or ass to the brim
And not feminine instrument,
For sex (let me say it again)
Has naught to do with the intent
To reproduce, a fact that pains
Some women, true, but just the same,
Sex needs no serious intent
And is better when it's a game
Meant for no more than merriment.
Brute power is debauchery's
End; therefore, any act which lends
To the superiority
Of men, a true nation defends,
So, of all sexual acts,
Anal sex is to be preferred
As best, since, let's face the facts,
By it, no child can be conferred.
Perhaps upon fellatio,
By which no child may be conceived,
Second-place price should be bestowed
For those who do it on their knees:
On most things, people disagree,
But all accept the argument
That to kneel or bow or curtsy
Is to declare, and not to hint,
That one occupies a station
Inferior to the one who
Stands, and, in all this great land, none
Stands quite as grandly as cocks do!
Women who masturbate their men
Are apt to take the third-place prize,
For though the Catholics say they sin,
In avoiding childbirth, they're wise.
A cock in mouth, ass, or hand,
We might say, without fear, in sum,
Has never once, in any land,
Fertilized a single ovum.
Therefore, although the Church may say
God wills that men should reproduce
And he sins who, in any way,
Gives to the act of sex abuse
By using her cunt or his cock
(Or mouth, ass, or hand, we might add)
In such a way that it should block
God's will and is condemned as bad,
The devil-may-care debauchee
Rebels, although he knows full well
He thereby commits blasphemy,
For which, in time, he'll roast in hell.
The wicked live but for the day,
Satisfying their lust for pow'r;
On earth, they wander from the Way,
Resisting God for but an hour:
Lifetimes, to God, are but instants,
But rebellious men gain power,
Even o'er Him, for the moment
He allows their brief sin to flow'r.
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