It's Said...

It’s said Mr. Jenkins was a good man,

Sure, it's said, over and again.

But good old Jenkins had a grudge,

Gorgeous as the bitter old bitch was.

She came calling for morning coffee, (wood, if you please).

Chipped mauve nails gripping that cup, floors up.

Giving Jenkins those hungry hazel eyes, (startling, some say).

Jenkins giving her something a little more below the belt...

It’s said Mr. Jenkins was a good man,

But he spat in her morning coffee.

Watching her ruby lips at ear after ear,

Beckoning to their favorite room, “good acoustics".

She flipped the bird with a witty grin, (wood, behind the counter).

Digging her half-assed nails into another man's hand.

Baseball, grandma's panties, stale pussy, anything, (just slightly aroused).

Jenkins heard every moan, every utterance of that man's name.

It’s said Mr. Jenkins was a good man,

But he took her the very next day.

And he ravaged her; his and his alone.

And she screamed pleasure and hatred.

She wrapped her ankles around the old bastard's neck, (leverage, some say).

Screaming out every name but his, breaking his being, his stride.

And he slapped that old bitch dead on the ass, (she liked it, ineffective).

And Jenkins choked her nice and hard; she looked so pretty in blue.

It's said Jenkins was a hollow man,

And he sliced his wrist in her coffee,

Dying of satisfaction watching her swallow.

And he jacked it right then and there, (dead wood).

It’s said Mr. Jenkins was a good man,

But they changed it to Genesee Hotel.

It’s said Mr. Jenkins haunts those halls,

And that bitter old bitch gets coffee every morning.