Single or bride, you find your poon
is getting pried by some crazed goon:
shut down that semen that’s inside streamin’
says Akin, loony.

Inside the cooze there’s a device
makes eggs impervious to a sperm splice.
There’ll be no children from zygote building.
Akin’s loony.

If the pricking of love nest’s
a “legitimate” rape
and it wasn’t a love fest,
pregnancy won’t take shape.

Then superfluous are baby clothes
though spoogerfluis goes in and flows.
She won’t get a yolk, though potent the bloke,
says Akin, loony.

Did I right hear?
The answer’s “yes.”
Morons, it’s clear, are in Congress.
Deranged directive says “brain-defective,”
that’s Akin, loony.

A chunk of stone is much more bright
than this morone in whom the lights
ain’t on. A dizzy blonde might ask, “Is he
With brainin’?” Loony!

It would be kind of funny if it were said by third
graders who think a bunny can fly just like a bird.

I guess he’s just one who thinks male
chums oughta run lives of females.
Nutjob’s no keeper, rocks’ thoughts are deeper
than Akin’s. Loony.