| poem.Nov.'97 |
| SEX WITH THE EX How long does it take to make the rooftops shake from the screams of her pleasure to which the neighbors wake? Answer: Nine and half weeks of books and butter, and sixty seven days writing love letters is what it takes for her to say, "Baby, it doesn't get any better." So on the fourth day of that tenth week with scratches on your back from that winning streak, you give her a call, and she says, "Martin, I just met a guy named Chandler." So you're sitting on your couch watching the Simpsons, And thinking, if I want to get laid, I just go wham bam, thank you ma'm; But this bitch just pulled my cord. It took her nine and half weeks to shut her door hard. So the next day, you hit the bar and get it on; And the next day, a stripper named Marla's lying naked on your lawn; And the next day, you shave your head, and become a player like Don Juan. But two weeks later, she calls you back, and says, "Baby, I miss you, join me for a snack." So, what do you say? What do you say? You say, "Hell no girl; I'd rather wait for the next." My men, it's a no-go to have sex with the ex. |
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