Holy mother full of grace, Bless my boyfriends sexy face, keep him from the girls I hate, For we were meant to be soul mates, Sent by L&S
It was under the old apple tree That she first showed it to me. It was ever so hot, It was shaped like a slot, But it looked like a subway to me. With a twinlke so full in her eye, She craftily mangled my fly. Out popped a tool That was long as a rule And she sank to her knees with a sigh. She proceeded to lube up my tool With lots of her natural drool. My knees gave a shake, My breath hard to make, And my tool throbbed away like a fool. With a magnificent shake of her head, She threw me down onto the bed. The apples so round, The leaves on the ground Made my tool like a sail on the Med. The subway engulfed all my tool. She rocked like she's riding a mule. My tool gave a jerk, Let out a hot squrt, And flooded her subway with jooul. As the sun sank slow in the west, She rose up and off of my chest. The tool flopped out bent It was terribly spent-- She absorbed all the best of the rest!
There was a young man from Racine Who invented a fucking machine: Both concave and convex, It would fit either sex - And could play with itself in between.
There was a young lady of Kent Who said that she knew what it meant When men asked her to dine, And served cocktails and wine; She knew what it meant - but she went!
There was a young fellow named Bliss Whose sex live was strangely amiss. For even with Venus His recalcitrant penis Would seldom do better than t h i s .
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