Ho house inn

 I wrote this back in the early Trump days. The inspiration was the treatment of Sara Huckabee Sanders. She was harassed at the Hen House.  The muse for the poem was all those horrible people in DC that have no morals. 

Ho House inn © Donna Rae Lands

 

Yo, let’s go-let’s go to the Ho House Inn.

I hear it’s near, near the rocking hen of ragtime spin.

Beware of loots and boots of waging sin.

It doesn’t matter about all the chit and chatter.

Come girls come guys-party hardy in midnight skies.

No need to think.

Pull right up; they'll pour you a drink…

Try the cinnamon whiskey…it will make you all horny and frisky.

So much humping-all in good fun…

Licking and tricking the famous French taco bun.

Yo, let’s go- let’s go to the Ho House Inn.

I hear it’s near, near the rocking hen of ragtime spin.

Judging the wages and pages of carnal sin...

Grab a number for your sleep and slumber...

Hey, line-em up in their snicker dregs.

Till it’s done, the pimps all beg…for his hoochie mama legs…

Dipping and tripping for the fall.

Oh yeah, come one, come all.

It’s about shooting balls and whispering halls.

No questions, reasons, or why’s.

Just float on in like sheepish butterflies.

There are magic wands and magic dongs.

Singing z’z of buzzes for their meeting and greeting songs.

Yo, let’s go; let’s go to the Ho House Inn.

I hear it’s near, near the rocking hen of ragtime spin.

They’ll give you a deal.

They’ll make it real.

It’s never a cockle-doodle-do for you.

Not even a poodle mockery ruse will do.

It’s just hoes and schmoes in gorgeous little rows.

It’s easy to pick and choose.

Slide on in; we’ll take you for a spin.

Down, down, down around the Ho House inn.

You can choose a Michele or a Tommie Lyn.

Heck, if you want…the stickler cunt…we’ll let you take a stab in the cab of Ronny Jim.

The music is ever so loud and proud.

It’s pleasing to all the people in the crowds.

All the men and women are so prim, proper and clean.

No cursing, cussing or being mean.

There are rubbers and condoms of art.

Ripping up the vaginas and tearing them apart.

It’s never a hits or misses.

It’s all about the hugs, cuddles and kisses.

It could be your fantasy place.

Maybe you want Miss Alabama Grace.

Try our red headed Elizabeth Chase.

Names do not matter; not even the effing chit and chatter.

Do not double down, behaving like a crazy clown.

Be the man of ho house wiener town.

For if you do, take this clue, take this clue with you.

You won’t be invited in for your spin at the Ho house inn.

So I say, on this very day for a little kitty play.

Yo, let’s go; let’s go to the Ho House Inn.

I hear it’s near, near the rocking hen of ragtime spin.