A virile young man of Touraine 
               Had vesicles no one could drain. 
                    With an unbroken flow 
                    Thrice the course he would go, 
               Then roll over and start in again. 

               A damsel who lives at the Springs 
               Had her maidenhead ripped into strings 
                    By a hideous Kurd, 
                    And now, she averred, 
               "When the wind blows through it, it sings." 

               "Last night," said a lassie named Ruth, 
               "In a long-distance telephone booth, 
                    I enjoyed the perfection 
                    Of an ideal connection--- 
               I was screwed, if you must know the truth." 

There once was a writer named Twain
Who had a peculiar stain
Surrounding the head
Of his prick, it was red
And it was said to wash off in the rain. 

Said an ardent young bridegroom named Trask,
"I will grant any wish that you ask,"
Said the bride, "Kiss me, dearie,
Until I grow weary,"
But he died of old age at the task.