Turned To Mud

The male had a wife, who left him for peace,

From hog loud snoring, and late-night meetings,

Along with other things he's turned to mud,

Came the drinking, and the subsequent beatings.

Her leaving shot his ego down with a thud,

She cried out for the god who granted her release.

 

The male is all man when considered a bloke,

Surrounded by mates like a game show host,

And something else he's turning to mud,

That part of his anatomy he loves the most.

And his despair is profound, his erectile dud

A brewer’s flopsy, his virility that is his yoke.

 

The loosely fitting male disguised as an adult man,

Travelling down that same old irresponsible route,

So everything he touches he turns to mud,

An attention seeker, black fumes spewing from his ute.

He swears at his critics, in an expletive flood

His parents always told him, what he does he can