I Dig Chicks

I dig chicks,
Yes, that’s right.
I dig chicks left and right,
And about chicks I will write.

I dig chicks
Big or skinny, lean or strong,
But a good brain could never be wrong.
I have a strange thing with chicks.
It seems whatever I do, I do it wrong.
An issue that’s been happening for far too long,
And my inner-self it afflicts.

You see,
I’m a romantic pedantic.
I think of dates,
And quote Yeats
While avoiding rates.

I think of things to say,
And ways to pay,
But nothing seems to get them to stay,
Whilst dirty men whisk them away.

It seems to me,
That the norm to treat a lady,
Is too far gone for me to assimilate,
And perchance for me it’s now too late.

It’s these chicks,
They don’t respond to calculated risks,
Only to dick pics
And Netflix;
Cheap tricks
And cocky pricks
Saying “cock me” within their cliques.
I’m the skeptic,
I’m the dick
For avoiding the script,
And not putting up with this shit.

I know I’m not the norm,
But I find it nice and warm,
To sit and talk amongst the storm,
And watch ourselves transform,
Into something universal,
Letting thoughts of others absorb
Into something internal.

It’s these chicks,
I dig them.
I really do.
I just want one,
That’ll make me say “I do.”
And they’ll say,
“I do too.”

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