The Ballad of the Bobbit Hillbillies
                                      
               (Sing to the tune of The Beverly Hillbillies)
     
   
Here's a little story of a man named John
a poor ex-marine (with a little fraction gone).
It seems one night after gettin' with the wife.
She lopped of his schlong with the swipe of a knife.
        (Penis that is)
        (Rodeoed. Fillet-io-ed)

Well the next thing you know there's a Ginsu by his side,
and Lorena's in the car takin Willie for a ride.
She soon got tired of her purple-headed friend,
so she tossed him out the window as she rounded out a bend.
        (Curve that is)
        (Pricker shrubs, wheel hubs)

She went to the cops and confessed to the attack,
and they called out the hounds just to get his weenie back.
They sniffed and they barked, then they pointed "over there"
To John Wayne's Henry that was wavin' in the air.
        (Found that is)
        (By a fence, evidence)

Now peter and John couldn't stay apart too long,
So a dick-doc said "Hey! I can fix your dong."
"A needle and a thread's just the thing you're gonna need."
Then the world held it's breath 'till they heard that Johnny peed.
        (Wizzed that is)
        (Stitched seam, straight stream)

Well he healed and he hardened, and he took his case to court,
With a cock-eyed lawyer (since his assets came up short)
They cleared her of assault and acquitted him of rape,
And his pecker was the only one they didn't show on tape!
        (Video that is)
        (Unexposed, case closed)
  

Part 12 of 12
   
                    His bunghole was blown back to Sparta,
                            
                    Where they buried the rest of our farter,
                            With a gravestone of turds
                            Inscribed with the words:
                            
                    "To the Fine Art of Farting, A Martyr."
                            

Fool

I just got finished testing in school.
Now taking a nap I start to drool.
It drips off my chin
As my dreams begin.
My peers laugh; I feel like a fool!

He could vary, with proper persuasion,
His fart to suit any occasion.
He could fart like a flute
Like a lark, like a lute,
This highly fartistic Caucasian. 

A worried young man from Stamboul
Discovered red spots on his tool.
Said the doctor, a cynic,
`Get out of my clinic!
Just wipe off the lipstick, you fool.'