Here’s my advice, young folks – let’s cut the shit – Have all the sex you can, and lavish it On anybody handy: Woman, man, Or beast, or hand: have all the sex you can. I peer above my lectern, back you stare: Lithe bodies in your hundreds, glossy hair And lots of it; even your awful gown And cap, still worse, can’t keep my boner down. I hope you’ve spent your four years well, got laid Five times a day. Your debts won’t be repaid, But you’ll have this: “Oh, Thunder Thighs, that chick, You know, from Great Neck: Put the thic in thicc. I lost a week between her legs, and still Count it well lost from Rousseau’s General Will In that week’s Great Book. Weirdly, though, the phrase Always brings her to mind. Those seven days Anyone would have willed who was alive; Never a muff more dive-able to dive.” But now you’ll have a job. I say again: Bet against grave, and grave will always win: Work less, fuck more. I can’t stress this too strongly: This is your time: young, horny, cute, and wrongly Attracted, now and then, but take the plunge; The grope, the clumsy kiss, the fumbling lunge Into the knickers. No, of course we know, is no; Don’t persevere. Back to the draw you go And better luck. You’ll find someone more willing, And here’s my wish for you: Be it as thrilling As in your dreams or fancies. When it’s good It’s very good indeed, and sure, it should Always be good, but won’t. Get used to that. Ah. I see the policeman with his hat -- High-peaked, hard-brimmed – approaches to restore Decent hypocrisy. I’ll say no more. It’s true I had a tot or two before. Orating Under th’Influence, or OUI: It’s certainly the proper charge for me. So fair cop, copper, and I won’t resist. Take me stout constable, and don’t desist From your corrections. Quite a splendid truncheon Hangs from your… belt. And after: how ‘bout luncheon?