Allah Their Balls
Contributed by Russ Vaughn
I’m being bad, I’m being naughty,
When I call for all Jihad-castrati.
I want to hear those martyrs sing,
With a clear and pure sopranist ring.
Let sandy saints sing shrill confessions,
Inspired by sharpened surgical sessions,
Where with a snip or two we find,
Clear path into that Jihad mind..
A man who’ll die for virgin trysts,
To save his balls will drop his fists;
So relieve Jihadists of their nobs,
And feed ‘em back as lamb kebabs.
Send ‘em on their way to paradise,
With a look of wonder in their eyes;
By Allah that’s a strange new flavor,
Perhaps in Paradise they’ll savor.
Capture ‘n cut should be our rules;
Send martyrs off without the tools,
For eternal virgin pollinating,
And eternities of blissful dating.
Though true we will inflict some pain,
I’d pay to hear that sad refrain,
Of macho martyrs in Allah’s halls,
Bemoaning their sad lack of balls.
The Poetrooper
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