A Poem Written by an African Shakespeare Dear white fella Couple things you should know When I born, I black When I grow up, I black When I go in sun, I black When I cold, I black When I scared, I black When I sick, I black And when I die, I still black. You white fella When you born, you pink When you grow up, you white When you go in sun, you red When you cold, you blue When you scared, you yellow When you sick, you green And when you die, you grey. And you have the cheek to call me colored?????
SOCIALLY CONSCIOUS PORNOGRAPHY We've socially conscious biography, Esthetics, and social geography. Today every field Boasts its Marxian yield, So now there's class-conscious pornography. Oh, the worker is nobody's fool, For by rights he's the man with the tool. His ponderous prick'll Arise with the sickle, And bugger the Fascists who rule. Miss de Vaughan was a maker of panties For all girls from subdebs to grand-aunties. Her very best ad Was herself, lightly clad In her three-ninety-five silken scanties. So this wench is a capitalist, She's our villain and ought to be hissed. But she's lush and she's plump, And a glimpse of her rump Would teach Marx that there's something he's missed. Now de Vaughan had resolved on a lock-out To give Communist Labor the knock-out. She said, 'Fuck the foul fools.' (She'd attended good schools), And took a fresh bottle of Hock out. Joseph Smith was a sturdy longshoreman (And an eminent amateur whoreman). Just to be sympathetic He grew peripatetic, 'Til his picketing irked de Vaughan's doorman. For this lout was a scab born and bred, Who fainted whene'er he saw red: In distress he reported, But she only retorted, `Run home and hide under your bed.' For her plans were peculiar and wicked, As she thought, `He's a man, if a picket.' She lured him inside And insidiously plied The prick of the picket to lick it. Joe's rod was stiff as a rail, But he couldn't let principles fail. `You degenerate bitch, That's a trick of the rich; But the people prefer honest tail. `You may tickle the cocks and the vanities Of the rich men who purchase your scanities, But the proud People's front Calls for sound hairy cunt. So it's down with de Vaughan's panty-wanities.' He picked a soft couch in her office, And tore off her pants and ripped off his. Then he showed her the rod Marks the difference, by God, Between what a man and a toff is. Now our Joe was the first proletarian Who had filled with his sperm the ovarian Recess of de Vaughan, Which had sheltered the spawn Of unnumbered Fascists, all Aryan. Next day his friends said, `You've been soaring, You're dead on your feet. Were you whoring?' He replied, `Starving masses Mean more than plump asses. Last night from within I was boring.' And de Vaughan thought her troubles were over, Her picket had left (to recover), But he'd furnished her womb With incipient bloom: A fact she had yet to discover. So after nine months, to the day, The employer in labor pains lay. As the boy hove in sight He yelled, `WORKERS UNITE!' And the doctors all fainted away. The moral of this is, my child, By rich promises don't be beguiled. Remember that workers Are eminent firkers, And go left, if you must be defiled.
Brian is an idiot! And everybody knows When he goes to bed at night He puts polish on his toes Brian is so stupid He sucks himself all day And when I went to a farm once And saw him eating hay Brian is a numbskull He loves a girl named Jade And he wanted her to kiss him so much Once he even paid
There was a young Georgian named Lynd Who'd never in all his life sinned, For whenever he'd start He'd be jarred by a fart, And his semen was gone with the wind.
There was a young rascal named James, Who liked to play terrible games, He lit up the front Of his Grandmother's cunt And laughed as she pissed through the flames!
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