What was Venus thinking when she allowed Cupid to exist,
When she gave him his first target, to on Psyche persist?
What was Venus thinking when she taught him to fly,
When she gave him arrows to try,
When she gave him his wings,
When she gave him his stings?

Ask her if she thinks she reared a mischievous child,
A malicious sadist, or something dark and vile.
Ask Mars if he’s proud of his son for spreading the worst kind of war,
The war between the sexes; something we now both love and abhor.
I do not condemn Cupid, for he is an eternal innocent,
But I condemn both mother and father for being so vindictively vigilant!

O, Cupid, O, Cupid, you reckless trifle,
Do, please, give me your arrows, in fact, give me a rifle!
Give me one with perfect aim, so I can never miss,
So I cannot fuck up, and never again be dismissed!
Cupid, O, Cupid, you silly, little cunt,
I’m so sick of this bullshit! Have you no one else to hunt?!

I tell you what, kid – let’s make a deal,
We’ll write it in blood, and stamp it with your seal.
Next time I’m in your sights, and in my guts an arrow must sink,
Shoot one at the chick you’ve had woo me; it’s commonsense, don’t you think?!