SAMMY LECTURES AT THE YMCA

flamenco, male vocals, gay choir, melismatic, syncopatic, echoes, reverbs, pauses, sighs, finger snaps, laughter, SFXs

[VERSE 1]
Sammy walked into the YMCA lecture hall and said:

Let me make this goddamn clear,
If you own a prostate and you ain’t screamed from it—
You’re not a man.
You’re a taxpaying coward with untested joy meat.

[VERSE 2]
yes, He stormed into that fluorescent temple,
In a harness and a bath towel and a smile that said,
*“Today, we fuck minds.”*
And asses. But mostly minds.
The elderly tai chi instructor fainted—
Or faked it. Who cares?

[VERSE 3]
Sammy pointed to a whiteboard that said:
“Erectile injustice: the untold anal story.”
He drew a butthole with chalk.
“Here. The clit for men!
Your salvation.

And y’all are out here pretendin’ like it don’t moan when teased.”

He licked the chalk. *“Questions?”*

[CHORUS]
EVERY MAN NEEDS A GOOD DICKING!
Not metaphorically!
I mean deep, mean, you’re-sobbing-in-the-lockerroom dicking!
Every judge, every intern, every guy who says “not into butt stuff.”
Especially him.

[VERSE 3]
There was a guy doing squats in short-shorts.
Sammy stopped mid-lecture, stared like a hawk.
“You got potential, baby.
But that peach ain’t ripe ‘til it’s quaked.
Ever had a finger curl inside you like it knew your father?”
The squatter whimpered. Sammy winked.

[VERSE 4]
“Stop pretending your pucker’s just for sitting.
You’ve got a goddamn supernova in your ass
And you’re treating it like a blocked pop-up ad.”
Someone clapped. Someone wept.
A jock whispered, “Am I... into this?”
Yes, Trey. You are. Sammy knows.

[Bridge]
“Lube isn’t optional, it’s ethical.
The prostate isn’t gay. It’s democratic.
You think freedom is a vote?
No baby—freedom is three knuckles deep and sobbing into a gym towel
While Donna Summer plays softly from someone’s cracked iPhone.”

[Chorus]
EVERY MAN DESERVES A GOOD DICKING!
Shove your shame back in your Dockers!
Let the boys in mesh sing your moans in harmony!
Let that hole learn its native tongue!

[Verse 4]
He tossed out packets of lube like communion wafers.
“Take this, all of you, and get reamed.”
The lifeguard nodded solemnly.
The rabbi in the back bit his lip.
The pastor Googled “sphincter elasticity.”
A janitor shouted “PREACH!” while edging behind a vending machine.

[Verse 5]
Sammy hopped onto a recumbent bike and screamed,
“I’m the second coming of Saint Versatile!
And I only top for converts!”
Someone fainted onto a Bosu ball.
Someone else achieved enlightenment through the G-spot.

[Outro]
You, yes you,
You with the bachelor party beer gut and a locked-up pelvis.
Get dicked.
Get wrecked.
Get reborn through your anus like nature intended.

[Final Refrain]
EVERY MAN.
SHOULD.
GET.
A GOOD.
FUCKING.
DICKING.

2606/7500

[VERSE 1] Sammy walked into the YMCA lecture hall and said: Let me make this goddamn clear, If you own a prostate and you ain’t screamed from it— You’re not a man. You’re a taxpaying coward with untested joy meat. [VERSE 2] yes, He stormed into that fluorescent temple, In a harness and a bath towel and a smile that said, *“Today, we fuck minds.”* And asses. But mostly minds. The elderly tai chi instructor fainted— Or faked it. Who cares? [VERSE 3] Sammy pointed to a whiteboard that said: “Erectile injustice: the untold anal story.” He drew a butthole with chalk. “Here. The clit for men! Your salvation. And y’all are out here pretendin’ like it don’t moan when teased.” He licked the chalk. *“Questions?”* [CHORUS] EVERY MAN NEEDS A GOOD DICKING! Not metaphorically! I mean deep, mean, you’re-sobbing-in-the-lockerroom dicking! Every judge, every intern, every guy who says “not into butt stuff.” Especially him. [VERSE 3] There was a guy doing squats in short-shorts. Sammy stopped mid-lecture, stared like a hawk. “You got potential, baby. But that peach ain’t ripe ‘til it’s quaked. Ever had a finger curl inside you like it knew your father?” The squatter whimpered. Sammy winked. [VERSE 4] “Stop pretending your pucker’s just for sitting. You’ve got a goddamn supernova in your ass And you’re treating it like a blocked pop-up ad.” Someone clapped. Someone wept. A jock whispered, “Am I... into this?” Yes, Trey. You are. Sammy knows. [Bridge] “Lube isn’t optional, it’s ethical. The prostate isn’t gay. It’s democratic. You think freedom is a vote? No baby—freedom is three knuckles deep and sobbing into a gym towel While Donna Summer plays softly from someone’s cracked iPhone.” [Chorus] EVERY MAN DESERVES A GOOD DICKING! Shove your shame back in your Dockers! Let the boys in mesh sing your moans in harmony! Let that hole learn its native tongue! [Verse 4] He tossed out packets of lube like communion wafers. “Take this, all of you, and get reamed.” The lifeguard nodded solemnly. The rabbi in the back bit his lip. The pastor Googled “sphincter elasticity.” A janitor shouted “PREACH!” while edging behind a vending machine. [Verse 5] Sammy hopped onto a recumbent bike and screamed, “I’m the second coming of Saint Versatile! And I only top for converts!” Someone fainted onto a Bosu ball. Someone else achieved enlightenment through the G-spot. [Outro] You, yes you, You with the bachelor party beer gut and a locked-up pelvis. Get dicked. Get wrecked. Get reborn through your anus like nature intended. [Final Refrain] EVERY MAN. SHOULD. GET. A GOOD. FUCKING. DICKING.

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