Sexism, sexism, do you need a fucking exorcism
to drive out the devil in the form of feminism?
It's like a leech, isn't it?
Gripping, crawling, tearing, screaming in your face,
threatens you in your race towards absolute power?

It's scary, isn't it, that women might be strong
when it's been so long when they've stayed obedient?
I know it must feel shitty to have to feel pity for the creatures
who gave birth to you.

Poor little man, how you must be suffering,
'cause this world is so cruel to you, isn't it?
It just keeps on feeding you, doesn't it?
With propaganda, with power, with pride and with people
meant to do as you wish them to,
and that is hard work because dangers lurk in the shadows, don't they?
It's women, letting their hair grow,
and it's not fair how they let themselves go
because they should be pleasing you, right?

And it's so provoking with a smoking hot girl dressed in a short skirt, isn't it?
And you just have to show her that she's worth less that dirt
by shoving her in it.
And then you have to prove your point by using your manhood
(which is, by the way, gravely misunderstood as a symbol of might instead of a thing
that could help produce a child at its height—if it's lucky)
and tell her that fighting will do her no good.
And then you feel re-empowered and masculine,
just the way you've always been since you came out of your mother's womb.

And you, poor little missy,
doesn't mind to keep yourself busy while you let your man shine.
You just sit back and have yourself a glass of wine while you whine to your friend about a friend
who said something about you being a victim of today's society.
What's wrong with being pretty if you aren't witty like your friend?
If you can't be like a man, but you know how to please a man,
what's wrong with that?

Oh, there's nothing wrong with playing along to the roles of today.
Some are good at it, some even like it, and some say they're here to stay.
There's nothing wrong in striving for normality,
(except for the lack of dignity)
and though we all go through stages of curiosity
we should know our place in this domesticity.
Of course you should wear make-up on your face all the time
'cause it gives you a sense of grace and raises your confidence
and beauty and desirability gives your existence a chance of complicity
to the crime against nature.

Go ahead, dress your daughters in pink and your sons in blue
and let them think that it's because of you and not the society.
Teach them it's alright for girls to kiss, 'cause that makes daddy happy
but it's kind of crappy and gross if boys to the same.
Teach them it's okay for girls to wear pants and tee-shirts
but not for boys to wear blouses and skirts.
Teach them it's okay for girls to cry and whine and be lesser than a man
but boys are girls if they weep, and that's not part of the plan for world domination.

'Take 'em yong!' they spit when it comes to the hair of a female armpit.
'Cause that's just gross; they should smell like a rose and be smooth as a baby's butt,
so take 'em young; hold your tongue and cut!'
'You should please your man, so remove what you can, and let a professional do the rest!'
'It's okay,' you say, 'it's better that way.'
And you must be skinny, you can't be fat
'cause then your only company in bed will be a cat (or two)
and you will suffer from cruel comments,
and who wants that?
Don't be fat.

And you must think it's okay that men use your body,
that advertisements abuse your body,
that film industries amuse with your body.
You must think it's okay that you have nothing to say,
that you have to stay away from a dark alleyway when you're alone,
because someone might attack you, and you should have known
better than to wear that short skirt.
Because that's provoking, and proves you're worth less than dirt.

Oh, silly little girl, don't you see?
Aren't you tired of all you're trying to be?
Poor, little man, isn't it wearing?
That you can't be sensitive, weak or caring?
It must be exhausting to be in shape today,
and to go all the way with rules and ideals.
It must be a pain to watch all those other people who just don't care
about hair in their armpits, or if they rely more on wits than appearance.
But most of all;
it must be sad and depressing living with this pressing madness
and to know that sadness often is the outcome of the search for success.

It's not your fault, though; it's just a public assault
created for this purpose alone.
And how could you have known that?

Sexism, o sexism, do you need a fucking exorcism
to drive out the devil in the form of feminism?
It's like a leech, isn't it?
Gripping, crawling, tearing, screaming in your face,
threatens you in your race towards absolute power?

Don't you worry, and wipe the sweat from your brow.
You're safe.

For now.