... She's to be blamed...
You know, you get that excitement
And advance towards your prey
Hunt it, grunt about it, she's to be blamed.
Any well dressed passes by,
You whistle to impress,
She look not to you, thus she's to blame
You keep slapping her, hurting her
Your drunken rage bruises her
She couldn't teach you, she's to blame
And only if she pleases you
Takes that slap, as you call her slut
Nonetheless, you keep society's name.
She could not teach you
She wanted but to cry
But the pseudo concept of stamped power,
Defined her to stand up against your name.
Blame it, blame her, shame her further,
She should not stop till she rips apart,
the mask of you promised power and fame.


















