“Those Dresses Aren’t Mine!”
People come to visit, and when they think I’m not looking,
A place in The Cross-Dresser Home they are booking
For me, because, well you see
Things aren’t always what they seem to be
My aunt came to stay, so I leant her my room
Little did I know my reputation it would doom,
For the nasty things that people would think
When hanging there is not a man’s shirt, but a slink-y
Chiffon little number; they automatically assume it’s mine
But I’ve got news for them; chiffon’s not fine
With me; I don’t like that look, and anyway
IT’S NOT MY DRESS; how many times must I say
It? I’m all about construction clothes , and other manly dress,
But denying it’s not enough for you, I guess!
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