There was a young man named Lanny
The size of whose prick was uncanny.
His wife, the poor dear,
Took it in her ear
And it came out the hole in her fanny. 

There was a young man from Lyme
Who couldn't get limericks to sound right.
When asked why not
It was said that he thought
They were overly long and far to complex, possibly even dull. 

               A lady who lives in Madras 
               Has a truly magnificent ass. 
                    It is not round and pink, 
                    As you probably think, 
               But is grey, has long ears, and eats grass.

                    A hermit who had an oasis
                            
                    Thought it the best of all places:
                            He could pray and be calm
                            'Neath a pleasant date-palm,
                            
                    While the lice on his ballocks ran races.
                            
                                              

The young things who frequent picture palaces 
               Have no use for this psycho-analysis. 
                    And although Doctor Freud 
                    Is distinctly annoyed 
               They cling to their old-fashioned fallacies.