Many Small Wonders for Royalty
RANDOM LIMERICKS
Poor Peter was three inches high
And liked to eat gooseberry pie
But when he would eat
His favourite treat
His pecker schwinged into the sky
Miss Pincer was wide as a house
Indulging in headcheese and souse
When out on a date
She'd pile up a plate
And claim, "I eat less than a mouse"
Lord Upple was known for his hair
For beneath he was totally bare
He was a vain codger
Somewhat of a dodger
His toup was the pelt of a bear
When Felix was seventy seven
He had visions of going to heaven
But then when he died
In hell was he fried
For robbing a seven eleven
Ol' Cletus was truly white trash
Who sported a frightening rash
It was scabby and blistered
Yet still he persisted
In attending a semi-nude bash
Miss Wilson was fond of her cheese
She'd spread it all over her knees
Then lick it with fervor
Until it unnerved her
And she forgot all her q's and her p's
His Majesty, Richard the third
Had his eye on a pretty young bird
But she gave him the finger
Then delivered this zinger -
"You're nought but right royal turd!"
Diana, the Princess of Hearts
Would flower her teas with some farts
Then she would sniff them
Her guests, they would whiff them
And grant her a Doctor of Arts
Reverend Smith was the rector of Leeds
And liked to boink Persians and Medes
Except during Lent
When passion he'd vent
On a rampage of buggering steeds
Miss Lola was known as a whore
For her thingy was constantly sore
She bought some KY
Thought she'd give a try
Then begged and begged for more
A funny old financier Fred
Was know to appreciate head
The ladies would frock
For a chance at his cock
But only when nude and in bed
There was a young man from Coblentz
Who paid all his hussies in pence
So they went out on strike
And hired a dyke
And he never has got any hence
There was a young virgin from Lyme
Who demanded her suiters could rhyme
For better or worse
They'd utter a verse
Of the sleaziest poem of the time
When smoking in bed I would muse
If ever my Hubby would use
A condom or tickler
But he's such a stickler
Despite my strong views, he'd refuse
Mr. B. hired Sally. What luck!
He knew she was short of a buck
So he offered to pay her
To peek at her crotch fur
And then ran completely amok
Maureen had an urge for a pickle
But her tastes were terribly fickle
Too short, or too long
And some were just wrong
And one caused a trembly French tickle
This poem is due for an ending
On its way shall I soon it be sending
Our syntax is ragged
The rhythm is staggered
Afraid there is no amending
| Contributors: | Francine, N, Dassn't Say, Nym, Randy, Karin, F, baoloa, Anon., Beefy, td, archaeopteryx. |
| Poem finished: | 6th August 2003. |