For an ‘A’ she’ll B a C-through vessel
Course on target, she’ll launch her missile
Shooting direct shots at the man before the board
Those signs ain’t no mirage, she wants him on board
Sailing her ship, letting loose his belted anchor
She offers him pleasure but deeply sitted lies rancor
“You’re a kind man sir, let me pay you in kind.”
Never opened books but her legs were spread, pages they had all peeped through
Mathematics to bedmatics
Physics to physique
Graded for course she didn’t even offer
Four years and a first class later
Our dearly beloved sister can’t even spell ‘waiter’
So much for her sexually transmitted degree
And an extra package of STD.
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