The Lyrics of That Macho-man, He-man, Tough-guy Shit

I could never get it straight. In my mind, that is.
Walk this way, walk that way
No hands on the hips (akimbo)
Don’t get very excited over anything
Keep your voice low and steady
Smile sometimes but don’t overdo it
Don’t whine or complain
Do look intensely at every nice-looking
Girl or woman that walks by—
Imagine her in your arms or bed even
Telling you those endearments that never
Fail to inflate your fiery ego
Strip her with your eyes only
Do fight to win always, never accepting defeat
Don’t bother apologizing
It’s not only hard to do but not very manly
Talk about sports all the time, and, whenever
Possible, play one or several
With the boys
Send the little wife and kids to church
But stay home and look over your sports mags
Or fiddle on something in your basement shop
Never dream, though, of making the bed or lunch
Don’t cry much, especially in public—hell!
Avoid that whatever the cost and
If you have to learn music, take guitar lessons,
Not piano lessons (Who ya wanna be anyway—Elvis or
Liberace?)
Never pick up thread or a needle even though
You heard that Abraham Lincoln stitched and mended
His own duds most of his life (Now there was a macho-man
For you—President to boot.)
Snort, take some drugs, wreck your life and your home
Financially cause you’ve got all this societal pressure
On your shoulders to walk this way, walk that way
No hands on the hips
No siree, I could never get it all straight
That machismo, he-man, tough-guy shit
Comes natural for so many
Now, aging, and having never got it straight,
I find I couldn’t care less
And don’t give a rat’s ass
Much less the rat’s shit
Or a damn
Or a f*** (oops, that word!)
Oh hell, it’s December—
Do have a merry you-know-what.
I certainly plan to.