And now, you spend in rears,
Have in your face a spline that’s spurtin’. . .
Must end this bein’ queer,
You must erase this way for certain.

And get a wife, fulfill
Marriage mandates—just do things my way.
Don’t bore colonic rifts—
Admit it: fie gay!

Don’t let your sex thoughts skew;
I’m telling you: that you must men shun.
Just fit into my purview
And do not screw those pouting men fun-
daments—let’s chart a course
To become het.--forget the bi way.
Don’t bore twixt cheeky cliffs,
And just say, “Fie gay!”

Don’t surge to the guys--that kind eschew;
Maybe you’ve bitten when you did chew.
And from this thrall, you must get out—
On whey-like sup--just spit it out.
And when you ball, make it a doll
And stick to “fie gay!”

In love—not with a guy;
That way is ill as self-abusing.
And now, when rears subside,
Just find a moll—go a-coozing.

To think you once did that,
That is to say, thought in a guy way.
So go, go get a she;
Try chicks, and fie gay!

Consort with a man and get he-hot?
It’s of himselves you must think not. . .
And not their things that you must feel;
It is a scourge to in front kneel.
No rectum throes; don’t brook the blows. . .
No dicks! It’s fie gay!!

(Although I can see that if you were me
And hitched to this witch who is crazy,
I can grok it, you might have doubts;
From the closet you might come out.
Her madness no longer appeals;
It’s for manness she makes me feel.
So now I know
That I’m gonna go
And do the guy way.)