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. 

A pansy who lived in Khartoum
Took a lesbian up to his room,
    And they argued all night
    Over who had the right
To do what, and with which, and to whom.

There was a young girl named Sapphire
Who succumbed to her lover's desire.
She said, "It's a sin,
but now that it's in,
Could you shove it a few inches higher?"

               In Kansas there lived a young monk 
               Who often was in a blue funk, 
                    For his come always froze 
                    On the sisters' thick hose, 
               And they never would part with a chunk. 

There was a young lady from France
Who got on a bus in a trance
Everyone f*cked her
Apart from the Conductor
But he came twice in his pants