In the midst of a polo-crosse chukka,
It’s simply not proper, nor pukka,
When offered the crumpet
Of some local strumpet,
To jump off your pony and fuck her.
Tag: limerick
Casanova
That remarkable stud, Casanova
Was kept all his long life in clover,
By fucking his patrons,
Society matrons,
In public, and over and over!
Out of character
Lady Anne, with remarkable candour,
Confessed to a quick one-night-stander
With one of our peers,
Who much prefers queers,
Though this, of course, might well be slander.
Standards
Lady Forsythe will lower her breeches
For any of aquiline features:
She won’t condescend
In the slightest to bend,
But accepts any pizzle that reaches!
Carte blanche
If of sex Lady Sarah grew bored,
Then she not only slept, but she snored:
But although it peeved some,
She had great tits and bum,
And it gave one carte-blanche if ignored!
Honest mistake
One could honestly publish a book
About Alfons , our myopic cook:
What a jolly old farce,
When he stuffed the maid’s arse,
Not the turkey’s (like which it did look!)
To the manner born
If not born to the manner, begin
By acquiring a taste for good gin,
And when plumbing the arse
Of a woman of class
Have a fellow to play violin.
On the tip of her tongue
Lady Forsythe, her clothing askew,
Claimed that someone, she didn’t know who,
Since his name now escaped her,
Quite possibly raped her,
Whilst bending down, tying her shoe.
Wet
Through the limpid Bombay afternoon,
As we wait out the summer monsoon,
To relieve the ennui
I take afternoon tea,
With the lady whose clothing’s here strewn.
The squatter’s wife
When the swaggies called in for some tucker
The squatter’s wife’s lips used to pucker.
They’d trudge through the heat
For a month for this sweet
Unsolicited generous succour.