Billy The Bat Struggles With Language
I'd love to be the kind to use a word
like chevalier and not have the room cock
it's head sidelong and puzzle.
It'd be stupendous to pepper
my speech with quarrelsome,
pious humors, and juggernaut
millstones. With diction like that I'd
be able to pay off my wayward sins.
But all the low lives in this bar
want to hear me say fuck, shit,
pussy, and kiss my ass. Hell, If I don't god
damn something at least once an hour
the drunk in the corner starts to sober up.
It was no more than a fortnight
ago that I tried to sneak cavort into a
jaunty tale of salacious
escapades. The row and discourse
that ensued was an affront to gentlemen
and ladies alike. The volleys of accusation
were down right embarrassing.
The whole thing pisses me off. Friends
think the only use I'd have for a silk scarf
is tying some bitch's legs to a bedpost.
Everyone figures the only things I'm good
for are guarding turf and busting heads
with a baseball bat. But I'm as cultured
as any Ivy League mama pansy boy. Why
people can't see it as clear as flies on
a dog turd, well, I just don't know.