quizzical pussy

I didn’t know what it was called when it first made me come
The nomenclature’s trivia, it always knocks me dumb
Unless “Oh god oh god oh god”‘s superior to mum
If my G-spot is a fantasy, Oh god! Let me succumb

Dear Gräfenberg, you clever chap
Your spot at least, I mean
It’s helped me fuck and helped me fap
Almighty, though unseen
I swear I’ve never doubted you
It seems so simple, tried and true
And I thought everybody knew
But then, things got obscene
The meanest edict to debut
Since herpes and the clap

Some scientists in Britain gave a survey, not exam
These scientists in Britain say the g-spot is a sham
It’s marketing, they argue, it’s a sexy little scam
So stop pretending there’s a magic pearl inside your clam

Perhaps not standard issue like a coccyx or a wrist
But take away my G-spot and you’ll find me fucking pissed
Though time and time again it’s been neglected, scorned, or missed,
My orgasms don’t lie and they confirm mine does exist

Hey Gräfenberg, can you believe?
They think it’s in my brain
They think I’m terribly naive
My dildos curve in vain
But why does it feel so sublime
Consistently and every time
A climax on a ruddy dime
Not fictive or arcane
How could that lofty two-inch climb
Into my cunt deceive?

Just because you have no G-spot, you can’t wrestle mine away
And if you prefer the clitoris, I promise, that’s okay
But recall they came for G-spots on that dark and distant day
When experts say that prostate stimulation makes men gay

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