Yay, oh yay, the duchess doth dismay.
She hath and she doth roll, roll! in the hay.
'Tween bosoms quite pert
she keepeth common dirt
all rolled up in a sausage-shaped splurt.
Inside her bra
lurks hideous danger,
more hazardous than any experience experienced
by even the most experienced park ranger.
The duchess is a harlot of the first order,
and she's married to a lord - er -
-yes! A Lord, not just any Lord but THE Lord,
The Floored Lord of the Pork Sword.
The duchess's fella,
quite a normal chap except his old chap,
which is yella.
But these are the days of old,
where syphillis is commoner than the common cold,
and venereal diseases are as common as dirt,
and EVERYONE'S got a bit of yellow in their splurt.
But The Floored Lord Of The Pork Sword
has gone a bit mad.
His dad is his mam,
his mam is his dad.
once as blue as the seas,
is now pouring out
of his nob when he wees.
His Queen's English accent
sounds more like a slur,
and now sounds like Lemmy
crossed with Damon from Blur.
Oh, what a funny couple they make!
She's a tight-pussied Duchess from Venus,
and he's a mad fucked-up bugger with sores on his penis.
(I was particularly happy with the last 2 lines)
The Nob of The Lord
Said "Sod this!" and tore
itself away from its vile master
"I've just had enough
of being treated so rough.
I've just got to stop a disaster.
"I'll hitch me a ride
to the sun and seaside
and laze about on a nice beach.
I'll watch all the women
a-splashing and swimming
and bite into a nice juicy peach."
So off went the Nob of the Lord with his knotted hanky
on a stick but as you're probably aware, when you're a
willy travelling alone, all sorts of unexpected things
can happen to you...
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