Selected Works Of Jonny Ballsac

He Is The Leatherman
By Jonny Ballsac

You'll taste his leather on your lips
when he stops to say his witty quips,
His studs always face the inside
so there's nowhere his pain can hide,
Amidst dark corners you'll find his mask
it shrouds him from his blackened past,
Upon a hook he's hung his whip
it hangs limply so don't trip,
Also don't trip upon his chain
he loves to see you writhe in pain,
His underwear is made of rubber
he won't settle for any other,
When darkness comes he greases up
I wonder if he'll ever stop,
His tolerance gets stronger
as the nights get longer,
Hot and painful, you'll be glad
if you take the time to read his ad,
Many thought his type was a goner
High screams at the sky "No! My name is Conor!"

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