Today's poems [8.5.08]
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Part 12 of 12
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."
There was a young man named Isaac Cox
Who took as his motto: "I suck cocks."
This frank declaration
Brought him such reputation
That he spent twenty years sucking cocks on the docks.
Maggie is such a sad sack of shit
That no one will tickle her tit.
It would make her so glad
To be had by a lad,
Her drawers cream at the mere thought of it.
There was a young fellow named Bliss
Whose sex live was strangely amiss.
For even with Venus
His recalcitrant penis
Would seldom do better than t
There was a young fellow named Malcolm
Who dusted his ass-hole with talcum.
He'd always use it
Everytime that he shit,
And found the sensation quite welcome.
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