I’ve been a bad boy for most of my life.
I’ve been rude to most every girlfriend or wife.
I sent sexual texts in all circumstances
and grinded on girls at each plural dances.
The number of stares, glares and leers that were given
to countlessly varied figures of women
on the streets of this city and many another,
to girls who were sisters, or daughters – or mothers?
The times that I’ve drooled over ladies this year
is greater than cakes I have eaten – or beers
I’ve imbibed in the time that I mentioned above.
It’s in no way a part of myself that I love.
I’ve objectified early and often, it’s true.
And I’m part to blame, but others are, too.
It’s society’s fault – and most credit’s due
to that late great and dated pornographer, Hugh.
Look to his magazine to find the fault.
It is at that cathedral to broads I was called to
at an early age where I saw my first nudes.
They were glorious, available, in tri-fold view.
I saw lasses so lovely, so sassy, so free
and I found right away that they were there for me
to look at, and study, and flirt with, and know.
It was the Playboy Mansion that had taught me so.
Of course I’ve been known as an unwoken cur
and it’s not a rare day for some crap sexist slur
to escape from my lips as I wolf whistle foxes
whom I might track home after finding their doxes.
The immoral positions I’ve voiced are quite many.
If there was a chance to be crass? I took any
and all opportunities to say that word
that oppresses with zest. My will would be heard.
But if you feel I’ve done some of your gender harm
and expect an apology, don’t bet the farm.
Since I know that of all of the actions I’ve taken
to commodify women – while perhaps mistaken –
did at no time or place originate from me.
The source of my motives, was Hefner, you see?
It’s his behavior that made me go bad.
If you’re peeved at me; be at him really mad!
It is the Playboy Mansion that you should burn down.
As the King of the Bastards, it’s old Hef holds the crown.
He gave me the means to treat women as meat
from their well-coiffed hair to their well-cobbled feet.
If girlies from me have received a raw deal,
to attack Hugh is suitably prudent, I feel.
If ever the appropriate thing wasn’t said,
don’t rag on me – kick the guy who is dead.