My name is Sarah Bischoff and I like men who look like rats, 

And men who live their lives as sexist bores, 

Bigots, charlatans, and greedy infants are my cup of tea, a fact,

The type with big bank accounts, who maintain stables of what they see as slores. 

I fall for them every time, because my tastes are just the worst, 

I let greed dictate my choices, and then wonder how I was abused, 

Maybe because I make myself subservient, or maybe I’m just cursed. 

Maybe because I talk and act like an educated git, seeking to be used. 

I really like the ones who are so uncouth that they just ooze, 

I know they’re shit but I don’t care, I need that security of attention, 

So I drown my head in the depths of the infamy of booze, 

And let them treat me any way they want, just like a possession.

It’s never worked for me before, but I so love the rats and pigs, 

And will sell myself to them, you see, even if I’ll just be the maid, 

Because my life demands appearances and all the money they have to give, 

I would never admit it to myself, but I’m just looing to get paid. 

For there’s nothing else to these men, 

No character, no depth, no sincere or real emotions, 

It’s all just pretense, you see, but I also love pretend, 

And though they won’t, I’ll swear to them my undying devotions. 

Then I’ll get screwed again, in every sense that can be taken, 

For I’m not a prize to these using shits, no, I’m just convenient, 

For no matter what they have they’re rank losers, men who are just faking, 

But so am I, a faker, and I love every dollar spent. 

I’ll spit on real love but I don’t care. 

I’ll never grow up, but I don’t care. 

I’ve destroyed a good one for no reason, but I don’t care, 

I’m a dishonest, vainglorious tart … and I … don’t … care. 

Bring me a rat! Bring me a pig! I can pretend he is a king!