And shed its innocent blood
Why must I injure my sheath
To play into your tribal trap
Or to appease your greedy ego
Where wisdom is blackmailed by
The question of my sheath
I will not hurt my manhood
And scar its naive soul
And why must I wound my foreskin
To please your ignorance
Or to excite your perversion
And instil a false sense of valor
Where only cowardice resides
I will not hurt my manhood
And blemish it spirits
Why must I damage my prepuce
To charm your contempt
Or celebrate your squatting wits
Where your sheath reins
More supreme than your brains
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