Don’t call me a f*ggot,
Said the meal worm maggot,
It’s a term of abuse and hate,
I am merely a mealy grub,
Whose fate
Is to become a meal or grub,
On a plate,
But before that date,
I wish to satiate,
Some appetites of my own,
I’ve been feeling polyamorous,
And although I am not very glamorous,
I’ve arranged some wonderful orgies,
For some of my fellow bugs,
And a group of handsome young slugs
A chance to celebrate
Before anyone gorges
Themselves on us,
And it’s all very much too late.
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