If I stroke a girl's behind There's nothing new to find As the effort gives responses uniform. I am fairly well acquainted That the form, as often painted, Has nothing much to vary from the norm. And the pleasure thus acquired Is never old or tired It is always a delight to go through. So I must thank genetics For the smooth happy kinetics That bestows the joyful sense that's always new. Since, by fate, I am designed To relish a behind No matter how the logic finalizes
That a bottom might commend Any girl I apprehend In spite of lacking any new surprises. That the current rear end felt Never fails (below the belt) To keep my life demented but exciting. Praise gluteus, hail maximus That evokes the best in us To welcome love, reject the acts of fighting.
From one who rarely tipples You can take it straight from me That a pair if staring nipples Revealed disturbingly Are sufficiently sensational To prompt the most irrational Reactions conversational That should never be.
The appearance of those spots Does something to the mind Tying logic into knots Both disruptive and so kind As to elevate the tensions Beyond normal conventions Creating odd extensions - Inhibitions to unwind.
Preference may disagree On stimulants incisive. Which lock needs whatever key Can be damnably divisive. But hormones in humanity Demand complete conformity It's just basic necessity And it doesn't bother me.