Blunder Thighs, Thunder
Blights:
Thoughts on Sridevi and Madhuri
I do news for a living
The insights are for
giving
Phookat for you-like Ryzers
And sundry analyzers
Generous I am with thought
But you ain't seen my snobbery
When I say:Sridevi ain't strawberry
A fakedly coy woman
In my eyes is a demon
Fit for changa boneys
And such-like gross phoneys
She gyrates and she pouts
Mebbe impresses the louts
Me, I look for some class
Some brains pouring in hour-glass
Now, I think you can figger
Why this babe makes me snigger!
+*+*+*+
Dhak-dhak, I see, has raised many
a hackle
Now these friendly femmes one must go and tackle.
My observation, dears, was essentially social
As a male, n'ertheless, I am parochial
This gyaration's no good, as an act of class
But La Dixit's surely an acceptable lass
Let me confess, then, with my Y chromosome
You win some, you lose some, you eye some, you want some!
Don't mistake then, my wicked male nod
As praise for class, when all I see is a bod
There are some instincts verily basic
Though you gentlewomen may find it not tres chic!
Mrs Nene blended some class with the crass
She wore some frills, danced to the brass
All the same she had some dignified highs
A wee bit more than Thunder Thighs!
If you eye an Enrique, or that impish Mr Grant
I have earned my own right, to rave and then rant
The animal in us (you'll agree) refuses to die
Our refinement with instincts, oh, doth vie.
Forget my travesties, forgive my tresspasses
Sometimes us snobs, do tilt like the masses