Little Guy by Mr. Peanut

His pitch was low, filled with rage

—   I used to be a woman… a woman so strange!

The way he did his hair and tied his stockings

Until his manhood came, without knocking

Now there is nothing in him, to a woman akin

And he is comfortable in his own skin

The skin that always boils

When he is reminded of his feminine coils

And now, staring at the mirror

His past does not seem any nearer

Although like him there are few

He feels the happiness he never knew

—   I am free of my cage.

His pitch was low and free of rage