They’re prickly and they’re scratchy,
They make my skin look patchy;
Though I’m told it’s for the best,
I never seem to get much rest
With my barbed-wire underpants
Other folks have silk or linen;
My drawers have razors all up in ’em,
As porous as a fence of shivs
I look ridiculous in my skivs,
Dressed in barbed-wire underpants.
No lace or frills, or elastic waist–
No easy smile upon my face.
I wish that I could strip ’em down,
And bury them beneath the ground!
Shove them in a lava flow,
Or freeze them in Antarctic snow!
Alone and crumbling, they will rust
From steel and spike into dust.
Let them burn and freeze and rust and tear!
Cruel and cursed underwear!
Then I would find a gentler pair
To put upon my derriere.
And breathe a breath of great relief–
Blessed, comfy, softer briefs.
No more barbed-wire underpants.