Lady Lester protects her good name,
And is safe from all scandal and shame:
She takes care not to shout,
Lest the word get about
That while fucking the vicar, she came!
Tag: limerick
Meat
Said Miss Mosely, “Good Lord, you are lewd,
To allow through your fly to protrude,
Your preposterous meat
Where it may, in the street,
By respectable spinsters be viewed!”
The milkman
Mrs Jones gave the milk-man a hug,
On the very same living room rug,
Upon which, by the stains,
They’d just fucked, which explains
Why she looked so decidedly smug.
Pick-up
He was big and a handsome dumb brute,
Never seen the inside of a suit,
And the way she was dressed
Made him bold to suggest
“Do you fancy a ride in my ute?”
With a logic that’s hard to refute,
She said “Alright. Why not? What a hoot!”
They’d gone twice round the block
When he pulled out his cock
And said “So… are you up for a root?”
She was struck momentarily mute,
Being virgin, and not too astute,
But he had a hot car,
And she’d ventured this far,
She said “Yeah, just pull out when you shoot.”
Her confession at home caused dispute:
She seemed proud of her new ill repute.
“Have you no sense of shame?”
“What about your good name?”
She replied “What the fuck? It was beaut!”
Moot
She was young, she was buxom and cute.
But too young or not? That remains moot.
She was ripe and full-grown,
With a will of her own
And a talent for mischief to boot!
The match-girl
In the slush and the wind-driven snow,
With the temperature fourteen below,
Knelt the match-girl, so numb,
That the prick in her bum,
She felt no more than if she’d said no.
A bit rum
If you feed Katie one or two rums,
Her extreme sensibility numbs:
Just another few sips,
And a touch of your lips,
Then her tenuous virtue succumbs!
Improvisation
She gave always a ready reception
To boys with their own contraception:
A thin piece of plastic,
Held on with elastic,
Sufficed, but was cruel deception!
Tickle her fancy
If you tickle her tummy, Miss Quigley
Gets squeaky and squealy and giggly.
Tickle her fancy,
She gets antsy-pantsy
And breathless and red-faced and wriggly.
The Officers’ Mess
Through his Cuban cigar, over port,
The old Colonel complained with a snort:
“My wife wants it on top!
We men must call a stop,
And make women behave as they ought!”
Said old Major Brown, “Jolly good show!
It’s debasing to fuck from below!
We must take it to court:
Women have to be taught
What they should, if they don’t, bloody know!”
Said the Captain, “It’s, after all, sport:
Woman’s role’s to be chased till she’s caught!
A root’s just not a root
Without headlong pursuit,
Not unless it’s expensively bought!”
From the Sergeant, by way of retort,
Was heard “Balderdash! None of the sort!
I belong to that school
Which says man’s but a fool,
If he buys what he might have for nought!”
Said the Major, “I’ve just had a thought,
For the perils with which sex is fraught.
We have all had the pox
From some upper class box:
I myself have a large penile wart!”
At this last, said the Colonel, “Aha!
We’re perhaps better off as we are:
I’m too old for the hunt,
Be it fox, boar or cunt!
I suggest we return to the bar.”