Bitches love sonnets

So apparently this is a thing now:

I don't really know why it's a thing, but it's sort of funny.

Anyway, the friend who first raised my consciousness to the notion that bitches, in fact, love sonnets is himself an avid writer of sonnets and he happened to text me a sonnetized version of "The Wheels On the Bus" today. It's every bit as hilariously brilliant as it sounds. He followed it with the words "tag, you're it."

WELL! I am certainly not one to let a challenge like that go unanswered.

So I put some thought into it, because honestly it's pretty hard to top "The Wheels On the Bus" in iambic pentameter...I thought about sonnets, and the bitches who love them, and after some serious cogitation I decided that if Sir Mix-a-lot had been a contemporary of Shakespeare and Kit Marlowe, he might have written it this way:

I love my ladies statuesque, 'tis true,

And nor can my fraternity deny

That when a damsel wanders into view,

Her lovely orbs to thy visage drawn nigh,

Then how like tight-wound clockwork from its case

Burst forth the ard'rous longings in thy breast,

For thou didst note with joy clear on thy face

How tight against her skirt said orbs were press'd.

Compared to her all others are inferior.

We sing the praises of her grand posterior!

(See what I did there with the clockwork as imagery for getting "sprung?" Awwwww yeeeeeeeeah!)