I know my last few poems have been about sex, prostitutes and now strippers. These are the only three poems that I have that cover this subject matter. I’d like to get them posted before the Holidays, so I can start posting more material about Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Eve.
I hope I don’t lose any followers, because this is the last one of this nature for quite a while.
For those of you that don’t care, I hope you enjoy this poem. It has a lot of truth in it.
Girls have a choice in life, there is no doubt;
One is being naked, with people all about.
Some like taking off their clothes, and showing off a big chest;
Guys always go for, the one who looks best.
Call her a Stripper, you won’t get an answer;
To you, that’s Exotic Dancer.
You’re sitting around laughing, having some yucks;
Three songs later, she says “That’ll be sixty bucks”.
They make easy money, if that’s considered easy;
Rubbing all over, a dude who’s cheesy.
Porsche, Lexus and Seattle;
Say her real name, you’re in for a battle.
The grossest thing, they all did;
Talk all night, about their kid.
No one wants to hear, about your dear;
Just bring, that G-string near.
Banks hate strippers, and their funds;
It’s alway comes in, in dirty ones.
Imagine all night, on your hands and knees;
Picking up dollars, in twos and threes.
Dancers ask questions, about your bank account;
They even want to know, the total amount.
Cocaine’s on every dollar, that we pass;
You can bet, so is that stripper’s ass.
Either way you slice it, Strippers or Dancers;
They are naked prancers.
Air out your privates, that’s what they expect;
Treat yourself, with no respect.
Old men go, to strip clubs a lot;
Because at home, they get not.
Bachelor parties, frequent the titty bar;
Their money, doesn’t go far.
Up in the Champagne room, there is no sex;
You believe that, you’ve got a complex.
Girls do adult things, in this room;
Many a customer thinks, love is in bloom.
Take all your money, until you’re broke;
Then walk away, and make a joke.
They have no pity, on a man looking for love;
Give a hand job, using a glove.
After you’re broke, it’s like you have the plague;
They won’t even, rub on your leg.
You catch a cab, and say good night to the ladies;
Meanwhile, they leave in a Mercedes.
Dancers make, great deals of money;
All because, she called you honey.
I wouldn’t want to be a topless dancer, not even for a snap;
Wouldn’t go on stage, I’d cause a flap.
Being a Stripper is a tough, and horrible life;
You’re worn out, and no one wants you as a wife.
Imagine on your wedding day, when you had to say;
In a titty bar, we met that way.
Don’t do it, is my advice;
Before doing it, I’d think twice.
One step from porn, it’s a thin line;
I know it’s tough, when you are so fine.
Get a real job, and marry a nice man;
Then my little honey, you may dance all you can.