Ballad Of The Spikey Haired DouchebagMature

Okay, so I've written a fair few things which are technically 'ballad' form, but this is something I'm willing to admit to having actual narrative. Enjoy!

I wake up in the morning with an empty bottle of Jagermeister,
Cans of Red Bull scattering the floor,
And I look like a disaster,
My hair is messier than ever before!

My collar is normal, what is going on?
My sunglasses have fallen to ground,
I better prepare myself after what has gone,
For the day that's coming around.

Half hour shower, the typical routine,
Gel in the bathroom, spike up my hair,
More deodourant than anyone has ever seen,
Put on my sunglasses to get some air.

Walking to the gym today,
Winking at women who look at me,
Not even my hangover is going to get in the way,
Of making my reflection better to see.

Pumping up the bar,
Hopefully all the babes will watch,
And I'm reminded of my pimpin' car,
I'll use to get them near my crotch.

My bro calls an emergency nearby,
A party is going on, I need to get his back,
As his wingman we will fly,
And get a girl with him in the sack.

Rock up to 'fully sick beats',
Thrusting my hips all around,
I want to get a girl between the sheets,
Because deep down, my self-esteem has all but drowned.

I thrust my hips left, I thrust my hips right,
I pick on the weakest guy who's there,
But chicken out of a fight,
I'm alpha, I don't really care.

It's the end of the night here,
Everybody is gone except myself,
Not a woman could I rear,
Low self-esteem is my mental health.

Then I just realise, there's nothing wrong,
I'm perfect and other guys are jealous lot,
They'll cry and sing a song,
I go home and pour myself a shot.

All those women, they're just too stupid,
Obviously the wrong crowd,
I'm more of a love god than Cupid,
It's all there fault, and I'm proud.

The End

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