There was a young man from St. Paul's Who read Harper's Bazaar and McCall's Till he grew such a passion For feminine fashion That he knitted a snood for his balls.
There was a young fellow named Meek Who invented a lingual technique, It drove women frantic And made them romantic, And wore all the hair off his cheek.
The voice from the UFO cried, "To the smartest we'll give a free ride!" Several men volunteered, But the ship disappeared With a whale and two dolphins inside.
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!
A young man from the banks of the Po Found his cock had elongated so, That when he'd pee It was not he But even his neighbors who'd know.
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