• There was an old whore from the Azores,
    Who's c**t was so covered with sores,
    That the dogs in the street,
    Wouldn't eat the green meat,
    That hung from festoons in her drawers.

    There once was a rector from Kings,
    Who's mind was on Heavenly things,
    But his heart was on fire,
    For this boy in the choir,
    Who's a** was like jelly on springs.



    There was an old maid from Camelot,
    Who survived on frog s**t and snot,
    When she grew tired of these,
    She'd eat the green cheese,
    That she scraped from the sides of her t**t.