What are girls made of, you ask?

Sugar, spice,

And everything nice?

No, nope, not at all! That’s just a mask!

Listen here, man, to my advice

In this poem, it ain’t so concise:

Girls are made of fucking rage,

Girls are made of metal and punk.

Trapped, trapped, trapped in a cage,

And drunk!

Even the worm will turn,

Even the square will round out.

You, baby, have a lot to learn,

But don’t worry, it’ll all work out.

Girls are full of Tramadol, Prozac, and nicotine.

Decided the doctors were witches,

Hang them or send them to the guillotine,

‘Cause the medieval church was run by old bitches.

Sorry, you guys, but it’s true!

Cooked on LSD and pot,

But now you aren’t feeling so blue,

Just don’t get caught!

Bored, bored, bored,

So you spend all your dough

Turning your lungs to charred cardboard!

Hypocritical of me, although.

People these days,

Insomniac and brain-dead!

On their phones, always,

Never right in the head!

Punk rock poetry is so great,

I enjoy rhyming nice

About how much I hate!

Sugar and spice.

Taxes, am I right?