Love Smothers Allergy

The bottom line is men disgust me
With their foolish scoffs and backwards glances
Impotent retentive sticklers
Excessive punching
Looking for the perfect match I’d found myself
Fumbling in a backseat with some effeminate anarcho-rocker
Until I found I was allergic to his lipstick
But by that time he had let me know that I was too macho for him anyway
There’s no such creature as the so-called '90s man
It’s a myth, a lie, an utter fabrication
Every beach boy’s waking dream is pornographic gluttony
No holds barred, seven
Well hung, well hung