There was a young man named Lanny
The size of whose prick was uncanny.
His wife, the poor dear,
Took it in her ear
And it came out the hole in her fanny. 

The naughty old bishop of Birmingham
buggered two boys whilst comfirming 'em
 as the knelt before god
 he pulled out his rod
and pumped his episcopal sperm in 'em

                    A young baseball fan named Miss Glend
                            
                    Was the home team's best rooter and friend,
                            But for her the big league
                            Never held the intrigue
                            
                    Of a bat with two ball at the end.
                            

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

   Some come here to sit and think,
   Some come here to shit and stink,
   But I come here to scratch my balls,
   And read the bullshit on the walls...