I’m too gorgeous à thing, for you little thing.
Must you think yourself a man enough to dance, Dance in the arena of this my womanhood
Like all other men, you must recite “The Beggars Creed” because I will be frank with thee,
My rosebush, My vagina, will not be pleased to dine with a withered dandolin, your penis.
You have reduced us women, to à state of utter profligacy, played us like toys made is less of the human race.
We are women, we deserve better, we must have all of it good in reserve.