By Jan M Smith 11/30/2010
I have to chuckle in my beer mug
As I think of those women he took
And used in his sickness and threw away
And never looked back or even shrugged
Oh, the one I never met her, what a loser
Her poor husband and child never knew
But I found her, she knows I did
She never responded, probably vomited, good.
The other thinks she is a princess,
With her high waist, pointed chin, long skinny teeth
Beautiful eyes and a voice like a chipmonks
And lost in a mirror and so deceived.
And then there is the one, ole silly, giggly
All snow white, fluffy skin and hair
Out of shape always with kankles
Batting her eyes, a stupid rabbit in a snare.
Oh there is Joyce with a lisp and bad teeth
Was already a practiced adultress with no chin
Had hammer toes at the end of her bowed legs
Now she is fat as a cow with teats.
And my good old friend of oh so many years
Thought he loved her, oh her poor sad tears
But he never loved her, he only used her
Walked away from her without a care.
And of her I found some pictures
Recent ones that made me sick
She is ugly, bad hair and is disgusting
Looks just like an indian man, a nasty hick.
And of me , how do I fit in
Tell me where do I stand
I stand as a person in great pain
Trying to get over the betrayals and live again
I would rather be me than ever be them
The sickness and evil they carry inside
They have a lot to answer for one day
Gray haired living with their lies.