I hold all women are a gang of tramps ...

by Robert E. Howard

I hold all women are a gang of tramps;

Where hermit men hold sway I’ll pitch my camps.

I trust no more a flimsy, fickle skirt;

I loved a woman and she done me dirt,

Her beauty was al beauty met in one.

My love was as a worshipper’s, the sun.

She proved as false as Hell, like all her kind,

Broke down the shrine I’d throne her in my mind.

And now I’ll go where she can never come—

She would not let me chaw her godamn gum.