Superman in bed is just a myth love,
Why, haven’t you seen
That tiny bulge in his undies?
And his little armed soldiers
Too are too stuffed
To get a little momentum going.
The last thing you’d want is
Superman endorsing a fertility clinic
Or the sperm bank.
It ain’t that good love!
And still I can picture Superman
Starting his own condom company
When he is a contraceptive on his own right
– In his skin tight undies.
And there’s still something
About those damsels in distress.
Like every woman with a college degree
On the other side of 35. And when you’re there
A man with stuffy plumbing and a waning garrison
Becomes your price charming
Or worse your great white hope
So darling, if you want superman
In bed, come to Sri Lanka.
Here all men wear sarongs
– Loosely wrapped ankle length garment –
In bed and they don’t have superpowers.
And no, nothing is ankle length, honey!
Just men with honest jobs
Who love to raise a family in their after-hours.
Here, they are called real men
Who only do missionary sex
Or occasionally like the Canadians, doggy style
And still they know the time,
When the moon jumps out of the cow,
And it’s no rocket science.
It’s like poking in a thermometer down
There, like Catholics do.
And these “ilandari” are so good
At getting women pregnant
You start to wonder – was baby Jesus a Sri Lankan?