As you sit there gently wagging,
Your hairy gut is pale and sagging.
Typing things of worthless chatter,
none of which will really matter.
Every day you cry and morn,
because you cannot draw porn.
Your mental state is in a fog,
pretending that you are a dog.
People claim that you are crazy,
the truth though is that you're just lazy.
So you type and ♥♥♥♥♥ and moan,
and someday you will die alone.
So you're sick of being gay,
and now you want to change your way
Pull your ♥♥♥♥ from out of bob,
and go outside and get a job.
within yourself lies the power,
and it helps to take a shower.
So don't fuss and gripe and groan,
this path you're on is not in stone.
The time is ticking so better hurry.
The fact remains, you're not furry.