you've got guts/you've got spunk/what a pity you're punch drunk/we both know this won't go the distance/i'll end it now, on your continued insistance/that we men are a vacuous lot/or possibly that Justin is hot/i don't pay much attention to your pointless rot/any child of yours should be left cold in the womb/who'd want to be born to a mother hooked on 'shrooms?/burning bra fumes/tend to intoxicate/which in turn leads you to replicate/the trite bullshit i've heard before/leave my dinner on the table and shut the door/independent woman, ha, oxymoron/here's some crayons, and some paper to draw on/you can scrawl fantasies with them/like unicorns, dragons and a female PM/but now im getting near the end of my song/you'd better run along, Gilmore Girls is on/but before i leave, let me simply assert/i just cooked your goose, now what's for dessert?