The youth who frequent picture palaces
Have no use for psychoanalysis,
And although Dr Freud
Is distinctly annoyed,
They cling to their long-standing fallacies. 

There was a young girl named Anheuser
Who said that no man could surprise her.
But Pabst took a chance,
Found Schlitz in her pants,
And now she is sadder Budweiser.

My face in the mirror
                isn't wrinkled or drawn;
        My house isn't dirty,
                the cobwebs are gone.
        My garden looks lovely,
                and so does my lawn;
        I think I might never
                put my glasses back on!

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

There once was a writer named Twain
Who had a peculiar stain
Surrounding the head
Of his prick, it was red
And it was said to wash off in the rain.