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There once was an old man of Esser, Whose knowledge grew lesser and lesser, It at last grew so small He knew nothing at all, And now he's a college professor.
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There was a young lady called Bright Who could travel much faster than light she departed one day in a relative way And arrived on the previous night
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NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP WITH THE BOY ACROSS THE STREET WONT MY DADDY BE DISGUSTED ONCE HE SEE'S MY CHERRY'S BUSTED AND WONT MY MOMMY BE SURPRISED WHEN SHE SEE'S MY BELLY RISE Sent by JESSICA
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Many many years ago when I was twenty three, I got married to a widow who was pretty as could be. This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red. My father fell in love with her, and soon the two were wed. This made my dad my son-in-law And changed my very life. My daughter was my mother, For she was my father's wife. To complicate the matters worse, Although it brought me joy, I soon became the father Of a bouncing baby boy. My little baby then became A brother-in-law to dad. And so became my uncle, Though it made me very sad. For if he was my uncle, Then that also made him brother To the widow's grown-up daughter Who, of course, was my step-mother. Father's wife then had a son, Who kept them on the run. And he became my grandson, For he was my daughter's son. My wife is now my mother's mother And it makes me blue. Because, although she is my wife, She is my grandma too. If my wife is my grandmother, Then I am her grandchild. And every time I think of it, It simply drives me wild. For now I have become The strangest case you ever saw. As the husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.
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SOCIALLY CONSCIOUS PORNOGRAPHY We've socially conscious biography, Esthetics, and social geography. Today every field Boasts its Marxian yield, So now there's class-conscious pornography. Oh, the worker is nobody's fool, For by rights he's the man with the tool. His ponderous prick'll Arise with the sickle, And bugger the Fascists who rule. Miss de Vaughan was a maker of panties For all girls from subdebs to grand-aunties. Her very best ad Was herself, lightly clad In her three-ninety-five silken scanties. So this wench is a capitalist, She's our villain and ought to be hissed. But she's lush and she's plump, And a glimpse of her rump Would teach Marx that there's something he's missed. Now de Vaughan had resolved on a lock-out To give Communist Labor the knock-out. She said, 'Fuck the foul fools.' (She'd attended good schools), And took a fresh bottle of Hock out. Joseph Smith was a sturdy longshoreman (And an eminent amateur whoreman). Just to be sympathetic He grew peripatetic, 'Til his picketing irked de Vaughan's doorman. For this lout was a scab born and bred, Who fainted whene'er he saw red: In distress he reported, But she only retorted, `Run home and hide under your bed.' For her plans were peculiar and wicked, As she thought, `He's a man, if a picket.' She lured him inside And insidiously plied The prick of the picket to lick it. Joe's rod was stiff as a rail, But he couldn't let principles fail. `You degenerate bitch, That's a trick of the rich; But the people prefer honest tail. `You may tickle the cocks and the vanities Of the rich men who purchase your scanities, But the proud People's front Calls for sound hairy cunt. So it's down with de Vaughan's panty-wanities.' He picked a soft couch in her office, And tore off her pants and ripped off his. Then he showed her the rod Marks the difference, by God, Between what a man and a toff is. Now our Joe was the first proletarian Who had filled with his sperm the ovarian Recess of de Vaughan, Which had sheltered the spawn Of unnumbered Fascists, all Aryan. Next day his friends said, `You've been soaring, You're dead on your feet. Were you whoring?' He replied, `Starving masses Mean more than plump asses. Last night from within I was boring.' And de Vaughan thought her troubles were over, Her picket had left (to recover), But he'd furnished her womb With incipient bloom: A fact she had yet to discover. So after nine months, to the day, The employer in labor pains lay. As the boy hove in sight He yelled, `WORKERS UNITE!' And the doctors all fainted away. The moral of this is, my child, By rich promises don't be beguiled. Remember that workers Are eminent firkers, And go left, if you must be defiled.
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