They tell me that I have B.O.,
But, "That's a lie!" I cry, "Not so!"
They claim I don't bathe well at all,
In bathtub or in shower stall,
Because the soap I daily use,
Is not the kind that they'd have me choose.
Nor, do I squirt the squirty-stuff,
That they assure will do enough
Which keeps my pristine body sweet,
From top of head, to soles of feet.
My response is, "Balderdash!"
That sort of stuff gives me a rash.
From both boob tube and magazine,
They point, and cry, "Unclean! Unclean!"
Although I try my very best,
Their voices wreck my nightly rest.
"Your armpits and your breath both stink!
Grease and hair clog the bathroom sink!"
My eyes are red, my head now aches.
Which pill or powder should I take?
They want to sell, and not cause harm,
But, they've sent me to the funny farm,
Where nice young folks in white walk past,
Without a word about my gas.
Donovan Baldwin