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What Real Men DoThere are myths about what real men are, Some wayward tales are stretched too far, We're simple creatures, with few demands, Not the ogre that some myths commands. Our best friend is Rover and that is that. Really! I have nothing against the family cat, I'll sing the cat's praises in any little ballad, I think they go well with chips and side salad, We drive our cars in the right direction, We don't read maps, no need for correction, Our female passengers keep an eye on our skill, But make one mistake and their looks can kill We men are born strong,- We will never cry, We don't eat quiche, only bacon and egg pie, We reach for the sink against our best wishes, We men get seasick when washing the dishes Real men are Celts, they're born and bred, To wear the clan kilt, with pride it's said, To carry it with honour, his heart on his sleeve, To insult his heritage is both dumb and naive, A married man knows when to zip the lip, He'll sometimes agree to endure the "snip", He'll take out the rubbish, do the mowing too, But he draws the line at cleaning the loo, Real men prefer women with curves and shape, Not walking skeletons with the weight of a grape, Real men give cuddles or flowers they send, And whisper "Je'Taime" to their lover and friend We don't multi-task, and that suits us fine, We can excel at doing " One thing at a time", We can be a pain to our trouble and strife, Real men show feelings to the love of his life Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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