There was a young lady of Michigan, Who said, "Damn it! I've got the itch again." Said her mother, "That's strange, I'm surprised it ain't mange, If you've slept with that son-of-a-bitch again." Send this poem to a friend 1 So here was this fellow from Strensall, Whose pecker was shaped like a pencil, Anemic, 'tis true, But an interesting screw, Inasmuch as the tip is prehensile. Send this poem to a friend 2 There was a young fellow of Strensall, Whose prick was as sharp as a pencil. On the night of his wedding, It went through the bedding, And shattered the chamber utensil. Send this poem to a friend 3 There was a young fellow from Wark, Who, when he screws, has to bark. His wife is a bitch, With a terrible itch, So the town never sleeps after dark. Send this poem to a friend 4 Here was a young man of Cape Horn, Who wished he had never been born. And he wouldn't have been, If his father had seen That the end of the rubber was torn. Send this poem to a friend 5
