Today's poems [2.6.11]
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A Cajun gourmet named LaSalle,
Is the chef at dat place on Canal.
He put lotta spice
On your red beans an' rice,
And make lightnin' shoot outta your bowel!
My back aches, my pussy is sore,
I simply can't fuck any more,
I'm covered with sweat,
And you haven't come yet,
And my God, it's a quarter to four!
Said a swinging young girl named Lyth
Whose virtue was largely a myth,
"Try as hard as I can,
I can't find a man
That it's fun to be virtuous with."
The youth who frequent picture palaces
Have no use for psychoanalysis,
And although Dr Freud
Is distinctly annoyed,
They cling to their long-standing fallacies.
There once was a queen of Bulgaria
Whose bush had grown hairier and hairier,
Till a prince from Peru
Who came up for a screw
Had to hunt for her cunt with a terrier.
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