Sir Rooster Ryder: A Modern Ballad
I rode upon my magic mount,
my trusty friend and pet—
a rooster big as any steed
or stallion ever met.
We journeyed ‘til my heavy head
was falling on my chest,
a sign we’d need to find a bed
to give ourselves a rest.
A stranger saw us passing by
and said he’d be our guide.
He led us to a sign that read,
“You’re welcome here inside.”
I hitched my bird beside the bar
and sat upon a stool.
A lovely lady flashed a smile
that makes a man a fool.
She grabbed my hand and sweetly purred,
“I know a nearby inn,”
and moments later, we were off
to find a room for sin.
“This room we’ve got is cramped and small
but big enough for fun,”
I’d started thinking when she turned
and jabbed me with her gun.
I’d thought I’d pluck a supple hen,
a feather in my cap,
but made myself an easy mark
and stumbled in a trap.
She took my clothes and stole my watch
while tying up my hands.
She tied them twice with knotted ropes
as rough as burning sands.
The lady left me all alone
with bruised and broken frame
and made a wound that’s even worse
than busted bones or shame.
The stranger and his lady friend—
those beasts with hearts of rock—
had planned the dirty grifting scheme
to steal and ride my cock.
Now people hiss and mock my words
and say I’ve only lied
when told I had a giant cock
to proudly stroke and ride.
Horror Sleaze Trash 