There was a young man of Natal 
Who was fucking a Hottentot gal. 
Said she, "You're a sluggard!" 
Said he, "You be buggered! 
I like to fuck slow, and I shall." 

                    Once was a tattooist named Clarke
                            
                    Whose urge to render was stark.
                            He put roses on hogs
                            and bare-shaven dogs
                            
                    And nudes on drunks in the park.
                            

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. 

There once was a queen of Bulgaria
Whose bush had grown hairier and hairier,
Till a prince from Peru
Who came up for a screw
Had to hunt for her cunt with a terrier.

There was a young fellow named Bouch
               Who inveigled a girl to a couch. 
                    He said, "Pretty young miss, 
                    I will take you, I wiss, 
               Horizontally, veritcally, crouch."