There’s a sweet little lass from Kildare,
Who’s not sure quite what should go where…
Like which hole is for what…
Should it go there or not?
But in practice, she doesn’t much care.
Furlough
When on furlough from wartime adventures,
Young soldiers would root local wenches,
In alleys, a park,
By lamplight, in the dark,
On the grass, or on frosty park benches.
Vacancy
The young soldier checked into his billet…
Madame knew her way round a skillet…
“There’s also”, she said
“A warm place in my bed,
By the way, if you wanted to fill it.”
The catch
She’s a catch, he thought, splendidly built,
As he plunged his cock in to the hilt,
And then in her sweet gob…
And she did a grand job…
Not a drop of his jism was spilt.
Spiv
A right charmer! A bit of a spiv..
But how much of a toss did she give?
If she went the whole way,
Fucked him, like, she dared say
What the fuck? Right? She’d probably live.
Baps
She’s a bonny lass, big, bouncy baps,
Flirts with fellas, like, sits on their laps,
Gets em hard, too, I guess,
Rubbing under her dress,
Cheeky thing, even shags em, perhaps!
Amuse bouche
“Appetiser?” he cynically joked,
Stuck his cock down her throat till she choked…
Well, it wasn’t much fun…
Just a kiss would have done….
Although strangely her panties were soaked!
Jugs
I cain’t help havin’ these here jugs…
And she hefts em in both hands and shrugs…
Guys all starin’ an’ gropin’
But ain’t no use mopin’
Just hang em out, show all them mugs!
The wall
It was funny… she couldn’t recall…
Was he good looking, plain, short or tall?
She was drunk, it was dark,
In some sort of a park,
Her tits pressed up against a brick wall.
Push comes to shove
You’d have thought they might go hand in glove,
But they don’t, not when push comes to shove.
A good fuck’s just a fuck
And its sheer dumb luck
If there’s any suggestion of love.