Dirty Hands Poem by Saint Cynosure

I scrub and scrub,
but my hands aren't clean.
Theyre still dirty,
from the filth Ive seen.
The things Ive heard,
the words Ive spoke,
and every dirty filthy joke.
Although to you the dirts not seen,
I feel the grit in cracks between.
Why the strange look on your face,
you are in my very place.
You to could use a little scrub,
a little soap a lot of rub.
I'm am not speaking to demean,
you know yourself your hands aren't clean.