George Michael re-releases

Careless Wrister

And I'm never going to wank again,
Guilty nobs have have got no rythm
Though its easy to pretend
I'm standing on a stool.

Should have known better than to wank in bogs,
Stood in shit and covered in jism,
So I'm never gonna wank again,
The way I wanked with you oo ooh.

Bog Tropicana

Let me take you to a place,
Where gays will come upon your face,
If you want them to,
And if you stand upon a bag,

They'll do things that will make you gag,
As you sit upon the loo,
Bog Tropicana sex is free,
Bums and gism, there's enough for everyone,

And if you like cock just like me,
You can meet them, they all want you!
nice....

Young Bums (Go for it!)

Hey Sucker!
(Who the hell's been up your flue?)
Hey Fucker!
(Where's the nearest public loo?)

Well I hadn't seen your arse around town, a while
So I greeted you, with a knowing smile
When I saw that chap upon your lap
I knew he'd taken your length, bent over the taps

I said: "Big boy, what's with the frown!"
I said: "Big boy, you better take my cum down."
And in return, I gladly heard you say,
"Fuck me George, I wanna play."

Young Bums
Having some fun,
Crazy Bikers take 'em on the run
Wise Bi's realize, when they see my jiz dripping down your thighs

Whip me, sting me like a bee
No tears, just cheers, and beastiality
One Two, on your cock I wanna chew,
Death by masturbation!

Hey Sucker!

.....and so on, and so on....



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1 


NIGHT OF DARKNESS

AS I LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW OF THE NIGHT
AND STARE INTO THE DARKNESS.
A WAKING NIGHTMARE OF DELIGHT
ETERNAL BLACKNESS UNTIL SUNRISE.
THE SPIRIT OF DARKNESS FLOWING THROUGH YOU BLOOD
FOREVER LASTING HAPPINESS.
A SINGLE DEATH ONCE A NIGHT
TO QUENCH THE THIRST OF THE ILVING DEAD.
NOT EVEN A CORPSE LEFT TO ROT
THEY VANISH FROM THE DARK PARKING LOT.


Sent by PHILIP



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2 



            There was a young man from Liberia 
            Who was groping a wench from Nigeria. 
                He said, "Yes, my pet, 
                Your panties are wet." 
            "Sorry, sir, that's my interior." 



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3 



            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. 



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4 



            Whenever a fellow named Rex, 
            Flashed his very small organ of sex, 
                He always got off, 
                For the judges would scoff, 
            De minimis non curat lex. 



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5