Small Town Gigolo

Raise a glass ladies, or, maybe a leg

To the man who lived and died by the keg

Stout of heart, and of trouser, was he

The small town gigolo, foot loose and fancy free

Hen parties were rich pickings, for this fancy gent

A knee-trembler in an alley, is where his love's spent

Like a custard chucking Zorro, he would sign his lover's back

And disappear into the night, with his barren nutsack

To some, classed a menace, he would wander the town

And, sometimes his sexual antics were met with a frown

No mask hid this hero, no cape to make him seem bolder

Cheap cologne marked his entrance, jacket over one shoulder

He'd enter a room with the confidence, of one with genital wealth

And saunter casually up to the bar, whilst adjusting himself

Come the end of the night, his seed he would sow

So, please raise a glass, to the small town gigolo...