Okay, I'm sold
Your foots in the door,
and the winds getting cold
Hard pressed,
and half undressed
Pushing me wares
as you stare at the sight
of my grey pubic hairs
Have a care, you say
we've a dye that may,
applied with a tissue,
resolve that issue
Stressed out by cold callers
Bound and gagged in the hold
by bold jailers
Trifle shocked
that I'm locked in
Twitching curtains
quite certain
They'll shanghai
hang me out to dry
Rinse me,
convince me that I need
Steam mops,
multi meds,
pedicure sets,
insurance for sick pets,
jet inspired power washers,
detergents,
posher nosh,
Africa smelling body wash,
cream for piles
My biles rising,
smiling
you clutch in your greasy mitts,
a compilation
of the greatest seventies disco hits,
Isaac Hayes
has seen better days,
I say,
and finally,
defined by lines quite sharp,
you see,
dismayed
after a sad display
he turns and walks away
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