Here Goes Pardon any typos.

(How come I can't get line breaks when I send?)

The Prime Minister to Persia was a gentleman of France
Very much in love with the Shah's pants,
Which he wore on grand state occasions as he sat upon the throne.
The minister would often long to have them for his own.
(I want those pants)

Especially intriguing were the jewels and the laces
With which they were embellished in the most strategic places.
No scarcity of fabric, no paucity of pleat
Disturbed the tranquil comfort of the chubby royal seat

Sections in this area were conveniently designed
For scratching any area the Shah might have in mind.
It happened Sunday evening when the Shah was at his prayers.
The ladies of the harem all were languishing upstairs.

The minister, quite pissed off at his ill-concealed desire
To add those jewelled treasures to his personal attire,
Made hasty preparation to return at once to France
And boldly sought the Shah's boudoir and swiped the royal pants.

Once in his grasp he found happiness complete
Pressed them to his bosom, kissed the jewelled seat
He fondled every ornament, he petted every gem
He gazed in rapture at each pleat and buttonhole and hem.

Finally tearing off his own, he thrust his shanks
In trouser legs, each one of which was worth a million francs.
The minister stood staring at the mirror on the wall
In bliss so overwhelming he couldn't speak at all.

Never had his front, or rear, his ass or knee
Known any glory anywhere equivalent to these.
With a moan of sweet content he fell into a trance
Stoned on the vibrations of those psychedelic pants.

Just then a lovely haremite, a favorite of the Shah
Came seeking through the hallways for her marital papa.
As she passed his sleeping room she gave a hasty glance
Detecting not the minister, but only jewelled pants

And in her girlish innocence she murmured, "King of Kings,
I can't resist you when I see you in 'dem t'ings.'"
Rushing in she threw herself in passionate desire
On them glowing trousers that resembled coals of fire.

"Oh, mighty Shah" she shyly said, "Oh, high and mighty Shah
You certainly improved since last you been to my boudoir".
Struggling from his fond embrace although the light was dim
She recognized her sad mistake and screamed "It ain't him!"

Today there sits upon the throne a youth of handsome mien
About whose features something reminiscent may be seen.
A product not of sin and not romance
But one who owed something to a pair of jewelled pants

The minister thereafter left his head upon the block
The Shah now keeps his trousers in a strong box under lock.
The favorite of the harem is replete with years and riches
And numbers in her offspring no other sons of britches.