Dancing with the stars—
They’re his lewd friends.
His pants might rip apart
As the dude bends.
He once in Congress thundered,
But now he’s here.
Guy curtsies. “Bye,”
Hetero con.

Looking pretty light
In his poof duds
On heinie, mighty tight—
It’s rammed with poof puds.
He’ll gaily traipse to music, The Hammer,
Prancing with the stars.

Once, he’d upbraid, scold,
Playing the straight role.
The closet door’s now sprung
But—girl partner time
Makes his part decline.
Here’s Tom. . .prefers a queers’ prom. . .
Lancing from the spars.