There was a young fellow of Kent 
            Whose prick was so long it was bent, 
                So to save himself trouble 
                He put it in double, 
            And instead of coming he went. 

There once was a kid named Darren
Who's room was surprisingly barren
He had no toys
Like all normal boys
But he did believe in sharing

               There was a young monk from Dundee 
               Who hung a nun's cunt on a tree. 
                    He grabbed her fair ass 
                    And performed a high mass 
               That even the Pope came to see.

            There was a young man from Vancouver 
            Whose existence had lost its prime mover. 
                But its loss he supplied 
                With a piece of bull's hide, 
            Two pairs, and the bag from the Hoover. 

There was a young lady from Kent,
When her husband's pecker it bent,
She said with a sigh,
"Oh, why must it die?
Let's fill it with Portland Cement."