There was a young lady of Wilts,
Who walked to the Highlands on stilts.
When they said, “Oh, how shocking,
To show so much stocking.”
She answered, “Well, what about kilts?”
Till explained by that wise Dr. X,
What did grandmama know about sex?
And poor grandfather too,
Did he know what to do?
Or, when at it, forsee its effects?
Who’d wish to be wed to Xantippe?
When Socrates took his last sip, he
Died slowly, feet first.
After which his wife cursed
And remarked that her husband was lippy.
"Buy that one… the prize of the year!"
Thus whispered a voice in my ear.
But later I frowned,
The beast was not sound.
I had purchased, I found, a bum steer.
An old Danish jester named Yorick
Drank a gallon of pure panegoric.
"My jokes have been dull,"
He said, "but my skull
Will one of these days be historic."
There was a young lady of York,
Who was shortly expecting the stork,
When the doctor walked in
With a businesslike grin,
A pickaxe, a spade, and a fork.
There was a young lady of Ypres
Who was shot through both cheeks by some snipers.
The tunes that she played
Through the holes that they made
Beat the Argyll and Sutherland Pipers.
Upon high Olympus, great Zeus,
Muttered angrily, "Oh, What the deuce!
It takes spiced ambrosia
To get the nymphs cosier,
And Hera supplies grapefruit juice."
"Don't poke us please, ma'am, or you'll vex us.
We must firmly embrace to have sex, us.
For an outcome that's spawny,
We have to stay horny
And coupled as one, in amplexus."
- Contused
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