The Ties That Bind
Fur coat, no knickers.
No better than she ought to be.
Common as muck.
Too clever for her own good.
Slung out lines to stunt and mould,
ensure she doesn't reach her goals.
Keep her tight inside a box,
locked away from greatness.
Slappers, tarts, MILFs and cougars,
girl next door with Page 3 hooters,
sluts and slags and dirty bitches,
fried egg tits and split-arse wenches.
Acronyms and words to wound,
imbued with hatred, ugly tools
of fucked up fools and bully boys
unable to enjoy a woman's company.
'er indoors, the wife, the slice;
she's ruined now she's had a child.
Throw one up her, fuck her blind;
a sausage up an alleyway.
Shaped and shorn from puberty,
language used to keep us meek.
We live and breathe the daily stench
of all the world's misogyny.
To all the boys, big and small,
here's a little helper:
Never call a woman
what you wouldn't call your daughter.