Slave Market
by Peter Loaf

Slave Market a

Streets of Manhattan, millions of souls
Proud sexy woman, a girl with goals
A taxi waiting
My address stating
A hissing sleepy, black spinning holes

The kidnapped trophy, Billionaire Bob
His third arm-candy, an inside job
Ransom demanded
My mind expanded
Ransom refusing, “Not one thin bob!”

Old Discount Davy, got a good deal
Slave market basement, copping a feel
In crate transported
The news unreported
The insider Bob, third wife to peel

Flying to nowhere, whimpering slave
Body bagged helpless, full body shave
Nose ringed and bundled
Freight trolley trundled
At last delivered, old Discount Dave


A stateless person, naked and bound
My perfect body, passing around
Customers bidding
Fortune he’s getting
Rock star reception, my weakness found

Subbie-lust sailor, pain whore in fact
The rougher the better, my pooper packed
Trophy wife lesson
Mistake confessin’
Pre-nup agreement, weakness attacked

Dying in brothel, Spanish complaint
From top to bottom, the whip marks paint
Too many sailors
Butchers and tailors
I smile at the last, to Death’s restraint