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There was a young man named Sweeny
Who spilt some gin on his weenie,
So just to be couth,
He added vermouth
And slipped his girl a martini.
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A horny old broad from Point Breeze
Once said to her lover, "Oh please!
You'd enhance my bliss
If you'd play more with this
And pay less attention to these."
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A girl on a southern plantation
Was the product of insemination.
So each fathers' day
She would send a bouquet
To a syringe in a far away nation.
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A crafty young bard named McMahon
Whose poetry never would scan,
Once said with a pause,
"It's prob'ly because
I am always attempting to insert as many extra
syllables into the ultimate line as I
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His bunghole was blown back to Sparta,
Where they buried the rest of our farter,
With a gravestone of turds
Inscribed with the words:
"To the Fine Art of Farting, A Martyr."
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