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?