There was a young man from Nantasket
Who screwed a dead whore in a casket.
He allowed 'twas no vice,
But thought it was nice,
For she needed no money, nor'd ask it.

There was once a mechanic named Bench 
               Whose best tool was a sturdy gut-wrench. 
                    With this vibrant device 
                    He could reach, in a trice, 
               The innermost parts of a wench. 

There once was a gal named Lewinsky
   Who played on a flute like Stravinsky
   'Twas "Hail to the Chief"
   on this flute made of beef
   that stole the front page from Kaczynski.


  

There was a young cowboy named Gary 
               Who was morbidly anxious to marry, 
                    But he found the defection 
                    Of any erection 
               A difficuly factor to parry. 

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