CHEERS TO A CREEPER

By Luther Brewster he goes each day,
Or even Lewey Brews some shall say.
I hit baseball far, he hits them deeper,
But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a creeper.

If you’ve got a girl, he’ll stand by your side,
He does it with joy, he does it with pride.
He’ll wait til you leave, he’ll completely surround her,
Next thing you know, his phacking arm’s around her.

He’ll talk the talk, he’ll spit his game,
Fortunately for us, his line are lame.
But then they notice his extra long digit,
They begin to squirm, they begin to fidgit.

They sneak away, and cling to him,
Like a fat guy to sofa, instead of a gym.
They know what they want, they want the finger,
They want it to last, they want it to linger.

They hope that his member is in the same boat,
The one that from the inside can tickle their throat.
They don’t care that he’s extremely creepy,
Cuz their legs get tired, their legs get sleepy.

They love his finger, they love his knuckle,
Their knees get wobbly, then they buckle.
A quitter never wins and a winner never quits,
Maybe if they’re lucky they’ll get a Luther Brewster spritz.

Chief Staff Writer, Otis Terry Sanderson