Sing a Song of Socks



‘Sing the praises of my girlfriend’s socks, slave! Sing a song of socks! Ha! Ha!’

‘Yes, master sir. At once, master sir:


 

Oh pray, pretty mistress,
In the plain, black socks,
Oh how I wish,
You would take off your crocs,
That this slave might inhale,
The aroma of your feet,
For a nicer pair of socks,
He could not hope to meet!’


I know – the lyrics to my extemporary song are truly pathetic! You should hear how bad the tune is! 

No wonder the master sir and mistress madam are laughing at me as they walk away from me. Indeed, as they do so, I overhear the middle-aged master sir sarcastically suggesting to his pretty, and much younger, girlfriend that he thinks my song might even make it into the Gynarchy hit parade!

I guess I should just be grateful that my pitiful attempt at singing the praises of my customer-mistress’s superior socks didn’t anger my betters.











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