There was a young girl named Dalrymple 
            Whose sexual equipment was so simple 
                That on examination they found 
                Little more than a mound 
            In the center of which was a dimple. 

From a niche in the crypt at Saint Giles
Came a sound which resounded for miles.
"My goodness gracious,"
Said Father Ignatius.
"I forgot that the Bishop has piles."

Father



 Father, don't I have to work?
 No, my lucky son.
 We're living now on Easy Street,
 on dough from Washington.

 We've left things up to Uncle Sam,
 so don't get exercised.
 No-one has to give a damn.
 We've all been subsidized!

 But if Sam treats us all so well,
 and feeds us milk and honey,
 please, Daddy, tell me what the hell
 He's going to do for money?

 Don't worry, Bub, there's not a hitch
 in this-here noble plan.
 We merely soak the Filthy Rich
 and feed the Common Man.

 But, Daddy, won't there come a time
 when they'll run out of cash?
 And we'll have left, then, not a dime
 and things will go to smash?!

 My faith in you is shrinking, son,
 you nosey little brat!
 You do too damned much thinking, son,
 to be a Democrat!

Mary had a little sheep,
And with this sheep
She went to sleep.
The sheep turned out
To be a ram
And Mary had a little lamb!

There was a young fellow named Lancelot
Whom his neighbors all looked on askance a lot.
    Whenever he'd pass
    A presentable lass,
The front of his pants would advance a lot.