From Songs of Raunch and Ill Repute (compiled at Caltech, 1958):

She stood right there in the midnight air,
With nothing on but her nighty.
Her tits hung loose like the bass of a goose,
Jesus Christ almighty.

She jumped in bed and covered up her head,
And said I couldn't find her.
But I knew damn well she lied like hell,
And jumped right in behind her.

Oh, she spread her legs, her lily white legs,
And then I stuck in my grinder.
The white of an egg ran down her leg,
And sparks flew out behind her.

Two weeks went by, I heaved a sigh,
A sigh of pain and sorrow.
The pimples thick upon my dick,
But there'll be more tomorrow.

Nine months went by, I heaved a sigh,
A sigh of pain and sorrow.
For two little mutts were in her guts,
But they'll be out tomorrow.



-- Joe Fineman    joe_f@verizon.net

||: Sovereignty is the polite old-fashioned name for totalitarianism. :||