We'd like to do a poem... if I can find it
Called "The subject was f*ggots"
Because it came up one night
When I caught myself going to a dance
Going to a dance that was being held on 34th street 8th avenue
I'm sure you're all aware, what famous dance houses they have there
And I was standing outside, not being cool huh
Trying to find out who was going to go in, that I'd figure I'd be able to talk to
And they were holding a f*ggot ball in the next half of the building
So I got kinda confused and I had to sit down to write this poem
The subject was f*ggots
And the quote was:
Ain't nothing happening but
f*ggots and dope
f*ggots and dope
f*ggots and f*ggots and f*ggots
Who lying
Dot, dot, dot, dot, dot
Like that
34th street and 8th avenue
Giggling and grinning and prancing and sh**
Trying their best to see the
Misses and miseries and miscellaneous misfits
Who were just about to attend the f*ggot ball
f*ggots who had come to ball
f*ggots who had come to ball
f*ggots who were balling
Because they could not get their balls inside the f*ggot hall
Balling, balling, ball-less, f*ggots
Cutie, cootie and snootie f*ggots
I mean you just had to dig it
To dig it
The crowning attraction being the arrival
Of Miss Brooklyn
Looking like a half-act in a miniskirt
With swan feathers covering his or her, uh, its pectorals and balls
As she, uh, he, uh, it
Prepared to enter the f*ggot ball
But sitting on the corner, digging all that I did
As I did
Long, long, black limousines
And long, flowing evening gowns
Had there been no sign on the door saying:
"f*ggot ball"
I might have entered
And God only knows just what would have happened
The subject was f*ggots
I'm glad you made it Charlie, I'm glad you made it