There was a young lady from Waste 
            Who fled from a man in some haste. 
                She tripped as she ran, 
                And fell flat on her pan--- 
            She sometimes still dreams that she's chaste.

Tombstone Epitaph In a Silver City, Nevada, cemetery:
Here lays Butch,
We planted him raw.
He was quick on the trigger,
But slow on the draw.

               Said Senator David I. Walsh, 
               "These charges against me are false. 
                    Though I did go to Brooklyn 
                    For sooklyn and fooklyn, 
               Not a gob laid his hands on my balsh." 

In the quaint English village of Worcester 
               Lived a little red hen and a rooster. 
                    A coquettish glance 
                    She acquired in Framce 
               Gave him ants in his pants, and he goosed her. 

The bishop of Winchester Junction 
            Found his phallus would no longer function. 
                So in black crepe he wound it, 
                Tied a lily around it, 
            And solemnly gave it last unction.