Tag: poetry

There’s this fellow who get’s most excited

in his trousers, his loins quite ignited

by the arches and heels

at the sight how he squeals

runs his tongue ‘twixt the toes quite delighted

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once a lass from the south of the Andes

got aroused on a couple of shandies

when on wine, lust devine

glass of port, 69

and my god what she’d do when on brandy’s

 

 

 

 

Once a vet who her work loved intensely

got quite heated, loved gerbils immensely

hamsters so made her sweat

guinea pigs made her wet

and with rabbits gets quite over friendly

 

 

 

A posh fellow, high class and good breeding

Found himself with dark thoughts and much needing

Gets his kicks, such a treat

watching fat ladies eat

Get’s him really quite hot when he’s feeding

 

 

 

 

Once a fellow who so dreaded Monday

as twas nowhere as much fun as Sunday

against Friday it pailed

next to Saturday failed

even Tuesday was way better fun day.

 

Hmm that is pants so here’s another.

 

Once a cardinal, proud of his choir

found the lads set his loins quite on fire

he could just not resist

when his large ring they kissed

how his mind swam with sinful desire

 

 

 

There once was a vicar from Chester

who would wear a long yellow sowester

not much else underneath

save perhaps a small brief

made it easier when out to molest ya

 

 

Once a colonel who really loved chicken

went too far, well beyond finger lickin’

Their pale flesh he’d caress

juicy things, plump firm breasts

and you know what inside he was sticking

Heard you’re under the weather and wheezy

and your bottom is really quite breezy

and you’re head’s thick and snotty

and your breath’s pretty grotty

lots of fluids and rest, take it easy

Neath the paint and the smiles, sadness deep

When the lights they go out they do creep

At the window stare in

with maniacal grin

cut you up in your bed as you sleep

Tell the children it’s fine, not to fear

that you’ve checked and there’s just nothing here

but when you turn your back

they emerge from the black

and from under the bed they appear

 

 

Nympho cum craving lass from Nantucket

had a craving to ride, stroke or pluck it

and by Friday she ached

how she quivered and shaked

but by Sunday she’d filled half a bucket

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the night you hear scratching and grating

there’s a knock at the door you lie waiting

As you lie ‘neath the sheets

there’s a tug at your feet

you look up and she’s there, dead eyes hating