It is certain he is fifty years old,
A wrinkled man with gray eyes that feels cold,
But I would proclaim with a voice so bold
That I doubt if this man’s lifestyle is pure.
It is certain he’d caress girls like gold,
Smile and pat a feeble thirteen-year-old,
But when I see him smile at them I’m sold
That I doubt this man is truly pure.
It is certain my hunch needs to be told
Cuz what would happen if he has a fold
Of old men whose greasy palms on girls rolled?
Thus I doubt this man’s mind is truly pure.
It is certain why I rang the siren,
To expose an evil group of old men,
Revealing to the police their vile den
And I doubt when caught they won’t be so pure.
It is certain when they spoke at seven,
It was disclosed there is no bad omen
And inside are only his grandchildren
But I doubt that; he’s only acting pure.
“I’m not wrong,” I write in paper and pen,
To tell the police his home’s not Eden,
And save the girls from perversions given;
But I doubt they’ll think my intention’s pure.
I doubt the old man is not suspicious.
Don’t you agree as well, I’m so confused?
He’s definitely planning something foul.
Don’t you doubt, too, if he’s actually pure?