The marriage rate is going down
And many tears are falling.
The good men left and left behind
Some eyes bloodshot from bawling.
Men no longer mentor
Any women that they pay
Because they fear the power
Of what said women might say
And smart men will no longer talk
To strangers in a skirt
‘Cause they’re one false “j’accuse” away
From sleeping in the dirt.
Cats think that this circumstance
Is surely heavensent:
They live with 30-something women
Whose exes pay the rent.
Meanwhile the men rebuild themselves
From fighters into monks
And leave the chasing women
To the inner-city punks.
The West now walks on eggshells.
There is no doubt about it:
The feminists have made their beds
And now they lie about it.
I’m often accused of “mansplaining”
When what I teach just isn’t landing.
But never once have I met a woman
Who I accused of womanunderstanding.
So why do we assume that men are spreaders
And not that chicks on buses seem to shrink?
I await answers with manticipation
‘Cause I’m curious to know what women think.
A minute with me
Is an hour in Heaven,
But no woman will know
‘Cause I’m five-foot-eleven.
Bigger is better in terms of pianos,
4×4’s, salaries, and dicks.
But smaller is better in the eyes of go-getters
When it comes to the waist size of chicks.
Bigger is better, the man would insist
When it comes to masculine stuff
Because those said men have never had things
That were, in our eyes, big enough.
‘Twas the week before football
And all through the States
Everyone outside Boston
Came to terms with their fates.
So many Don’taes,
Tyrones, and Lamars
Checked if Wendy’s needed
Someone who could lift cars.
Meanwhile those lucky
To remain on their teams
Prayed the ACL gods
Would not ruin their dreams.
The fans were all cozy
Wrapped up on their couches
While the TV says who’ll be
The sleepers and slouches.
And a tenth of a billion
Mostly female folks
Didn’t see the appeal
Of tackling blokes,
Yet still two-hundred-million
Pulled on overpriced shirts
With the last name of someone
Whose whole body hurts.
They’ll sit back to watch
As the combat begins.
They’ll be happy as long
As their animal wins.
We once had damsels in distress
And knights to ride to their aid.
Although the knights and damsels are gone
The distress somehow has stayed.
As the all-knowing poet
I have a solution of course:
We need more women who love dragons
And fewer men who own a horse.
There are 300 urinals present.
Just the first and last are used at all.
If one of those two isn’t open
Non-sociopaths use a stall.