It's easy to
get change from a pound for a paper.
A pair of tits.
"But if she didn't want to do it she wouldn't"
"She makes loads of money."
"Strippers are canny."
"Come on, love, show us your fanny."
You've paid some money, and you deserve a product.
Let's not be reductive,
she looked seductive so it's - of course - alright.
At a certain time of night you have to expect
to deal with a knob: it's a pretty well paid job.
Like banking...except you won't have
a twat in your glass office visibly wanking.
We've got it better than ever before,
so these "feminists" should stop moaning,
drown out their shrieks with falsified groaning
and shaven havens. Splayed legs.
Let her go to the toilet and mop up your dregs
and you go home for the evening.
Believing it's normal, a stag night tradition.
A screwed up banknote equates to permission,
consent.
It was never your intent but you took it.
Fuck it, it's easy, it's across the counter
like buying a packet of fags,
and aren't they all just slags anyway?
Your missus would never do that,
wave her arse in the face of a gurning twat just for money.
Funny. Isn't it?
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