A contemptible, sloven cur, is he

Always quickest to pick a fight

Quicker still to hide or flee

A rabid dog without the bite

Time one day will put him down

Though his father began years before

While the bitch went off to lift her gown

A beaten pup, a father’s rage for the whore

He tries to put himself to sleep

This barfly, this drunken hound

Makes a living by being the creep

Hoping his time will soon come around

No love was shown this mangy beast

A mistake who was allowed to breathe

He’ll make the most of what is least

Until his fangs no longer seethe

Published by a.d.matthias

no w here

2 thoughts on “Cur

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