THE STRIPPER

Across the south, in private clubs
In downbeat dives, in rundown pubs,
The stripper plys her nightly trade
Undressing for lechers who cannot get laid.

With thrusting breasts and grinding hips
With a tongue that moistens gloss smeared lips,
She strives to drive the punters wild
She strips for tips to dress her child.

The gas bill's due, so too the rent
Her boss creams off his "fair" percent,
When she's done he'll take his cut
Fleecing the losers who leer at her butt.

Returning to the job in hand
In surroundings less than grand,
She drops her bra and bares her tits
To a cheerless crowd of sad old gits.

Likewise her knickers end up on the floor
She shakes her "booty", it wobbles some more,
In truth she is needing to visit the gym
Her "Brazilian" too is in need of a trim.

Her privates made public, her work is complete
The pay isn't great but it sure beats the street,
She puts on a show, she puts cash in her purse
Her life isn't great but it sure could be worse.

She exits stage left to staccato applause
Once more debased for a laudable cause,
Leastways her baby will not go unfed,
She can't wait to see him, tucked up in his bed.

Out in the toilets she dresses once more
Picks up her money and heads out the door,
Tomorrow the stripper again plys her trade
Undressing for lechers who cannot get laid.

COPYRIGHT D M PAMMENT 2009