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01 Sep 06 - 05:57 AM (#1824343) Subject: A no-so-rude calypso From: Mebyon I've searched the site for any reference to this calypso and failed. I thought that I should post it here so that it doesn't fade away, as I do! I heard this sung in a pub in Cambridge, (England) in about 1955. I suspect it was typical of the undergraduate humour at that time. Pornographica Here is a catalogue, biographic Of the famous exponents of the pornographic. They aimed below the belt and above the knee In a veritable orgy of obscenity. Havelock Ellis was the greatest of them all. He was very, very certainly on the ball. His Psychology of Sex is an excellent tome For keeping things straight around the home. You really shouldn't read Alberto Moravia. He's rather sordid and he's bound to depravia. In his books no one ever goes home For all roads lead to the Woman of Rome. Rabelais' genius was extremely Gallic. If he had any symbols they were usually phallic. He wrote a fifteenth century Eskimo Nell Called Gargantua and Pantagruel. Henry Miller's books for children have no betters For most of his words have only four letters. His Tropic of Cancer we've received, Has to be obscene to be believed. This is rather strange company for Henry James Who didn't go in for erotic games. Till he took to sex at seventy-two Which is rather late to Turn a Screw. Oscar Wilde was a very strange man he Did not care for Lady Windemere's Fan he Grew pathetic and soon grew pathetica In Reading Goal he practiced his Ars Poetica. Baden Powell may seem a strange choice But there's more than meets the eye in this camping for boys. Many a scoutmaster has found his desire Warming his hands by the old camp fire. Baudelaire was Satan's pal. His motto was 'Cherchez la Femme Fatal". He had a negress called Jean Duval And led her up the garden picking Fleurs du Mal. We mustn't forget our dear Frank Harris Who was very well versed in the habits of Paris. He had a friend called André Gide With common ideas and a similar need. Christopher Isherwood was living in sin In a rather shady quarter of Nazi Berlin. A confusion of gender quickly explains Why Mr. Norris was changing trains. Boccaccio's women all go upstairs To play musical beds, not musical chairs. He describes some very strange sights On those gaudy days and Decameron nights. James Joyce almost got drowned, I guess In the sea of consciousness. He devised a psychological plan And wrote A Portrait of the Artist as a 'Jung' Man. The original pornographer we must not miss. The anonymous author of Genesis. It gave us all fun but it gave the Lord grief When Eve turned over Adam's new leaf. |
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01 Sep 06 - 07:02 AM (#1824384) Subject: RE: A no-so-rude calypso From: Leadfingers FAR too erudite for me ! |