She’s a slut and a sinner, yea verily,
Rooting her way through life merrily,
Destined for hell,
Anybody can tell!
Well perhaps… although not necessarily.
Midsummer
On Midsummer’s Eve folk used to frolic,
Drink home brews (all quite alcoholic),
Root each other’s wives,
Who’d all scream for their lives,
Though their protests, of course, were symbolic.
Top shelf
Pretty face, like a porcelain dolly,
A figure to match, too, by golly!
Such innocent eyes,
But to no-one’s surprise,
She sucked cock like a hard boiled lolly!
It’s an ill wind
In the ’60s, a time of austerity,
Girls showed their lack of prosperity
Right where it hurts
Wearing tight little skirts,
A delightful effect for posterity!
In the back seat, in a country lane
She’d run out of excuses, essentially.
Now she’d get rooted, potentially,
There in his car,
Down to panties and bra,
But he dropped off to sleep, providentially.
What are friends for?
Just another damn randy damn male!
Her best friend and all! Damn betrayal!
She’d thought he was joking;
Now naked, cock poking,
Her protests to little avail!
Hands-on learning
Not much hair on her pussy, just fuzz.
When she touches it though, as she does,
If she rubs it just right,
She discovered one night,
Just by chance, there’s a nice kind of buzz!
Cuban girls
They’re laid back, women down in Havana.
No sex today? Maybe mañana!
They drink rum and dance,
Love a bit of romance,
Or, for lack of a man, a banana!
The perils of selling encyclopaedias
“Please come in!” he says, strangely emphatic.
“Thanks so much!” she says, automatic.
If only she knew
The vile things that he’d do
To her, later that night, in his attic!
Sisterhood
Could the new novice be an imposter?
The sisters, who’ve made up a roster,
To lie with her , say
She’s a slut, doesn’t pray,
Not so much as a damn Pater Noster!