There was a young lady of Worcester
Who dreamt that a rooster seduced her.
She woke with a scream,
But ’twas only a dream
A lump in the mattress had goosed her.

There was a young fellow named Fritz
Who planted an acre of tits.
They came up in the fall,
Pink nipples and all,
And he chewed them all up into bits.

She had sat in a pretty green patch,
But now found herself having to scratch.
Poison ivy she’s got,
And she’s itching a lot,
Right down there and real close to her snatch.

I have a strange story to tell,
Of a woman who casts a mean spell.
Though men would undress her,
Not one could possess her,
And the last man to screw her’s not well.

There was an old count of Swoboda
Who would not pay a whore what he owed her.
So, with great savoir-faire,
She stood on a chair
And pissed in his whiskey-and-soda.

A foreman who’s known to be rude,
Said something a worker thought lewd.
Though red in the face,
She’s got a court case,
So it’s his ass that’s going to be screwed.

I wonder what Christmas will be,
No merriment, good cheer or glee.
Now that Santa’s arrested,
Because someone protested,
That he laid some doll under their tree.