By Stuart Shea
If we let newborns have time with dads,
They’ll never develop the requisite ‘nads
To preside on AM radio courts
About how these softies are wrecking sports
By bringing in stuff like “love” and “hope”
To an audience raised on slackjawed dopes.
Published in Players, Pure doggerel, Scandals, Stu Shea | Link to this poem | No Comments