Post by Ulterius on Oct 17, 2010 18:56:01 GMT
Bent double, an old beggar in silk slacks
“These footballers are fags,” she cursed and swore
Til on the sporting news she upturned her crack
Showed them what many men have seen before.
“They’re half asleep,” she grumbled to her boots
Sitting in her church, where half the folk were blind
Drunk on Jesus, deaf even to the hoots
Of laughter as Edna bared her hairy behind
GAS! Gas! Quick Ed – an ecstasy of laughter
Slipping down her stockings just in time
A racket erupted, the smell shortly after
The vicar floundered like a man in fire or lime
Dim, through the years of reading utter crap
As under the bar-stools, I saw him hurling
In all my dreams, I feel my corsets snap
He squats in squalor, retching, choking, hurling
If in the smothering fumes you too could sit
As Christ's messengers quail at the stench
And split your sides at someone else's faeces (or poo-poos)
Her hanging tights, watching her colon clench
If you could hear, at every squirt, the dump
Come gargling from the newly opened tubes
Gazing upon the ripe curves of her rump
And marvelling at the cling-ons on her pubes
My friend, you would be thought of as a sodding pest
But could often tell urinal-dwellers at a party
The old truth: Felice et eroticum est
pro patria defaecati .
“These footballers are fags,” she cursed and swore
Til on the sporting news she upturned her crack
Showed them what many men have seen before.
“They’re half asleep,” she grumbled to her boots
Sitting in her church, where half the folk were blind
Drunk on Jesus, deaf even to the hoots
Of laughter as Edna bared her hairy behind
GAS! Gas! Quick Ed – an ecstasy of laughter
Slipping down her stockings just in time
A racket erupted, the smell shortly after
The vicar floundered like a man in fire or lime
Dim, through the years of reading utter crap
As under the bar-stools, I saw him hurling
In all my dreams, I feel my corsets snap
He squats in squalor, retching, choking, hurling
If in the smothering fumes you too could sit
As Christ's messengers quail at the stench
And split your sides at someone else's faeces (or poo-poos)
Her hanging tights, watching her colon clench
If you could hear, at every squirt, the dump
Come gargling from the newly opened tubes
Gazing upon the ripe curves of her rump
And marvelling at the cling-ons on her pubes
My friend, you would be thought of as a sodding pest
But could often tell urinal-dwellers at a party
The old truth: Felice et eroticum est
pro patria defaecati .
