The "f" Word

I think I’ve written the "f" word
a few too many times
‘cause now it just slides off my tongue
and doesn’t even shock my eyes
when I see it on paper,
on MY paper.
Everywhere I go
I’m afraid to read the "f" word,
or say it too loudly.
‘Cause you know,
I may get sensored
for saying it,
or thinking it,
or hell,
even thinking about it.
See, truth is I’m 31,
married seven years
with two beautiful children
and I in fact
don’t have tiiiiiiime for the
"f" word.
You see,
I’m not one for dirty language,
and spitting it out in bed
ain’t gonna cut it
I don’t speak
the "f" word.
Everybody else out there
throws around the "f" word
like they know what it means.
When I was growing up
we knew what the "f" word meant;
a bar of soap
right in the mouth.
My kids know
not to make that mistake.
Ever since Last Tuesday
nobody around these parts
even knows what the "f" word means anymore.
I got guys in suits on TV
saying "f  the ‘f’ word,
who remembers it anyways?"
You see, I got guys in Washington,
oh no I don’t,
there’s no power in Washington,
ever since they forgot the "f" word.
All the power’s in Riyadh,
and trust me they ain’t NEVER heard
of the "f" word there.
Over here,
we toss it around a volleyball at Hunington Beach.
We throw it out there like…
oh God, here come’s the biiiiiiiiig climax,
the lip biting,
sheet scratching,
pillow - grabbing,
body shaking…
STOP!
Big ass let down.
Like I said:
"f the ‘f’ word."
‘Cause it don’t mean nothin anyways.