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The tramp and the stamp

As I got dressed
for my night on the town,
I’ll wear my tube top!,
It’s the hottest around.

But those who don’t
suck it in should beware:
Your muffin top
has a ton of friends there,
and they all come out
with good booze and fare.

But I, in my wisdom,
put my muffin top aside.
I would suck in my gut
for the whole damned ride.

And yet it slips out…
It’s drawn to the bar.
And it’s drawn its friend,
my low riders, too far,
Which in turn invites butt crack
to hang out in the car,
And then they’re all having beers at the bar.

Tube top, my friend,
the hottest shirt ever
Could never betray my confidence, Never!

And yet it slips down…
And with five coke and jacks,
I don’t even notice
to slide up the slack.
And my no-run mascara
has run down my face,
Like someone from cirque de soliel
took my place.
And my tube top’s turned into
an extra large scrunchee
And my hair is sticky instead of crunchy.

Next thing you know,
I’m at the tattoo shop,
Choosing which butterfly
should go on the spot,
Above butt crack
and beside muffin top.

And so it was that the thing was done, and had I remembered,
it might have been fun,
But my head, instead,
pounds at a low amp,
And this is how
the tramp is stamped.

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