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Nothing enrages me more than the rapist of the whore,
The man who fucks for his own gain, ignoring women’s pain.
I hate assaults committed, black eye crimes never admitted
bleeding tattered bodies battered with their life confused and shattered.
I hate the men who think it's fine to drink
and hit a girl of seven, self-injuring when she's eleven.
I hate the sly smooth talk of throbbing date rape cock,
or harsh insult and leer at boys in bodies queer.
I hate the man for want of joy who doesn't wrap his cliché toy
and leaves a world undone, discarded to oblivion,
moving through the innocent till his rank seed is spent.
I hate the murder of sweet life because she cooked poor as a wife
and looked left instead of right so now she's dead.
I hate the cheating sot, who’ll have sex and not get caught,
dragging on his lies of lifestyle double lives
Fake and nice on weekdays for the Jones' Christmas plays
And later on the Sabbath he’ll inflict his senseless wrath
on Mary who sneezed “Achoo” and spilled blood on the pew.
I hate men who like to hurt, who say “Nice skirt”
Ripping clothes away and think it’s play.
I hate the sick distortion of unwanted abortion
And the scorn of nuns whom with godsent wisdom shun.
I hate all the men who rape and take and then
they laugh aloud, a victory of which they’re proud.
I hate it all, the disrespect, teaching young boys to let
The overwhelming sorrow continue to the morrow.
I hate these dirty stains, by wicked men who don’t deserve the name...........
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