There was a young fellow of Kent
Whose prick was so long it was bent,
So to save himself trouble
He put it in double,
And instead of coming he went.
There once was a kid named Darren
Who's room was surprisingly barren
He had no toys
Like all normal boys
But he did believe in sharing
There was a young monk from Dundee
Who hung a nun's cunt on a tree.
He grabbed her fair ass
And performed a high mass
That even the Pope came to see.
There was a young man from Vancouver
Whose existence had lost its prime mover.
But its loss he supplied
With a piece of bull's hide,
Two pairs, and the bag from the Hoover.
There was a young lady from Kent,
When her husband's pecker it bent,
She said with a sigh,
"Oh, why must it die?
Let's fill it with Portland Cement."
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