I'm Glad I'm a Man I'm glad I'm a man, yes I am, I am king I don't live off of berries, bob-bons, and rings I don't brag to my girlfriends about my infections I won't talk to the blind man, concerning directions. I'm glad I'm a man, I'm so glad I could yell I don't shave my hair, wax, or use gel I don't buy wonder bras, or girdles or such and I don't beg for money to enlarge my bust. I'm glad I'm a man, of that I am proud. I'm not all bitchy, annoying and loud. I won't try to squeeze in jeans three sizes too small. My crdit card is still good when I leave from the mall. Yes, I'm glad I'm a man, a man you see I can pee standing up, sitting down, or in a tree I don't believe every ad with the word free I won't drink diet coke, or eat a rice cake. There's no silicone here, my chest isn't fake. My face isn't "lifted," my bra isn't stuffed, I do what's proper, I leave the toilet seat up. It doesn't take hours to fix up my hair, I don't see the need to use the bathroom in pairs. I won't throw a tyrade and then blame PMS. I'm a man, and I'm glad I can deal with my stress. I have intuition, I never get lost. I share household duties, I won't try to be boss. I'm a man and with that comes a high sense of class. I won't wear a swimsuit that rides up my ass. I won't go out at night in a black leather skirt, Then slap anybody who just tries to flirt. You crazy women scare me, you have lots of gall, To make Lorena a hero for hacking off balls. I won't cry like a baby when Bambi gets shot I don't make up false places, like the infamous "G-spot." I'm a man of high faith, its my right to command. The bible and God say all women must serve under man. I'm a man by chance and I'm thankful it's true-- I'm glad I'm a man and not a woman like you. Send this poem to a friend 1 The Night Before Finals Twas the night before finals, And all through the college, The students were praying For last minute knowledge. Most were quite sleepy, But none touched their beds, While visions of essays danced in their heads. Out in the taverns, A few were still drinking, And hoping that liquor would loosen up their thinking. In my own apartment, I had been pacing, And dreading exams I soon would be facing. My roommate was speechless, His nose in his books, And my comments to him Drew unfriendly looks. I drained all the coffee, And brewed a new pot, No longer caring That my nerves were shot. I stared at my notes, But my thoughts were muddy, My eyes went ablur, I just couldn't study. "Some pizza might help," I said with a shiver, But each place I called Refused to deliver. I'd nearly concluded That life was too cruel, With futures depending On grades had in school. When all of a sudden, Our door opened wide, And Patron Saint Put It Off Ambled inside. His spirit was careless, His manner was mellow, He started to bellow: "What kind of student Would make such a fuss, To toss back at teachers What they tossed at us?" "On Cliff Notes! On Crib Notes! On Last Year's Exams! On Wingit and Slingit, And Last Minute Crams!" His message delivered, He vanished from sight, But we heard him laughing Outside in the night. "Your teachers have pegged you, So just do your best. Happy Finals to All, And to All, a good test." Send this poem to a friend 2 Father Father, don't I have to work? No, my lucky son. We're living now on Easy Street, on dough from Washington. We've left things up to Uncle Sam, so don't get exercised. No-one has to give a damn. We've all been subsidized! But if Sam treats us all so well, and feeds us milk and honey, please, Daddy, tell me what the hell He's going to do for money? Don't worry, Bub, there's not a hitch in this-here noble plan. We merely soak the Filthy Rich and feed the Common Man. But, Daddy, won't there come a time when they'll run out of cash? And we'll have left, then, not a dime and things will go to smash?! My faith in you is shrinking, son, you nosey little brat! You do too damned much thinking, son, to be a Democrat! Send this poem to a friend 3 Mary had a little skirt With slits right up the sides And everytime she crossed her legs The boys could see her thighs Mary had another skirt With a slit right up the front She never wore that one... Send this poem to a friend 4 Roses are red Violets are blue Some poems rhyme But this one doesn't Send this poem to a friend 5
