A long, LONG time ago,
We had fanned love's embers;
He was smooth and always dressed with style.
So I swooned, then I leapt at the chance
To perpetuate our romance.
And soon, we were both strolling down the aisle.

We'd passed the shot from Cupid's quiver;
He started to abuse his liver;
He started porting more shleps
Of Port across our doorsteps.

Effectively--can't be denied--
I had become like a widowed bride.
He'll never touch me deep inside;
Each day he boozed in stride.

Oh, why, why did I marry this guy?
Gettin' heavy as a Chevy from the bevy and pie.
His group's "skol" boys who're drinkin' whiskey and rye,
Stinkin' like an ain't-been-cleaned-for-days stie,
Like something crawled up there to die.

Did my rites; this shnook's "my love."
He used to emplace his rod and shove,
But that was a while ago.
And now each eve, he'll "lock and load,"
And then from his portal it's blowed,
And from his pants there wafts a rank airflow.

My mind's blowed--I was in love with him,
Now his clothes smell like a moldy gym.
And when he hits the booze
He's gonna snore, snuffle, and snooze.

Now he's a bloated, screen-glazed sofa'd shmuck
Drinkin' a Pink Lady as a "pick me up."
He won't clean up after the pup
Has laid his doos inside.

I start a-bitchin':
Why, why did I marry this guy?
Gettin' heavy as a Chevy from the heftin' of pie.
His group's "skol" boys who're drinkin' whiskey and rye,
Stinkin' like an ain't-been-cleaned-for-days stie,
Like something that crawled up to die.

It's been one year, and each day I moan;
This slob grows fat and's a troll and drone,
But that's not how it used to be.
He was the regent and I was his queen;
Now he pigs on pork from Jimmy Dean;
Healthy Choice, alien territory.

And so now the "king" is getting round;
His heft goes up, each morn a pound.
His pork room has burgeoned. . .
Once ate a whole sturgeon!
He's a lemming when his friends embark
To hit the bars, then scarf and barf
And then girls' bicycle seats snarf:
The savor gets 'em high.

I start a-bitchin':
Why, why did I marry this guy?
Bike seats smellin'. That's compellin'! Meanwhile, my well is dry.
Does he grope boys, young things so frisky and spry?
Seems he's listless each time he spies my pie.
Is he gay and does he like guys?

Smelly smeller, he's a bum, this feller;
He burps at dinner; manners ain't stellar--
Eight piled pies? A small repast!
He drinks foul stuff in a glass,
Which causes tornadoes from his ass.
He's a pest; I think his bloodline's mighty crass.

Now, this ass-time air ain't sweet perfume. . .
Not a farting gent when he was groom.
We all got up and ran
When the methane gas began.
My mother was guest, and how she squealed
When his fart penchant was revealed.
His pants to his butt were annealed. . .
The chair upholstery: fried.

It was singein'
My, my, there's a merde in this guy:
Air was smelly, nearly felled me, like the gas well nearby.
This butthole boy is mighty stinky. But dry!
Stinkin' like an ain't-been-cleaned-for-days stie,
Like something crawled up there to die.

Well, I caught him one day on myspace,
Manipulating to the face
Of my sis, for whom he's a yen.
"So come on: jack be nimble, jack be quick!"
He yelled grabbing at the joystick.
High tech can be the digits' bonely friend.

While his hand was clenched at her homepage,
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
I gave a storming yell;
He'd been sated pell-mell.
Then he claimed he had sleepwalked that night
To the site, then his hand wrapped tight
And gave somnambulistic delight.
I brayed: "You stooge, you lied!"

I started bitchin':
"Why, why do you dare this way lie?
You were beltin' this then peltin' sis with wide open eyes.
Your goo deployed amidst your whippin'-it sighs,
Sprayin', dripped upon your caked-on-spritz thighs."
In spite of this, he still denies.

I am a girl who bagged a douche
Who is hapless and hopelessly louche;
The shmuck is vile and way outré.
He spends down at the package store,
Where he snaps up quarts of Port to pour,
But the man cut him off when he couldn't pay.

But in my secret till was green--
He stole it all and found a new queen.
He shirks well in Hoboken;
There my sister he's pokin'.
He's the man that I revile the most,
A fathead, shmuck, and wholly gross .
Now all that remains is his clothes--
I spray insecticide. . .

A rayon nit den.
Why, why did I marry this guy?
Gettin' heavy as a Chevy, tellin' bevy of lies.
This goof-troll boy is dipping into sis pie,
Thinking about me and startin' to cry,
Wishin' he hadn't said "bye-bye."

Riposte stings him:
Fie, fie on this merdiv'rous guy.
He was smelly, gut like jelly. . .always tell me a lie.
Gorilla boy is whimp'ring; drippin', each eye.
"Simian," I say, "Let's stay with bye-bye."