In her quest for a suitable mate,
To a certain extent, it’s just fate.
She may hope, she might wish
That she’ll catch the right fish;
Tits and pussy, of course are good bait!
Tag: marriage
Marital bliss
Being married, mate, sex is on tap,
His mate said. Lunchtime root, then a nap!
Or, you’re havin’ a drink,
And she’s there, at the sink,
Just say “Oi! Suck my cock, love!” SNAP! SNAP!
For better or for worse
Lucy’s husband, Fred, whom she adored,
Was a man e’er so tragically flawed.
While she cooked, cleaned and bred,
Kept him warm, nights, in bed,
The louse gambled, drank beer and whored!
Mitigation
“”Yes, I promised to love and obey…
And I wouldn’t have fucked him. No way!
It was just some damn bloke!”
She said. “Kind of a joke…
And I just sucked his cock, like. Okay?”
The compromise
Though their marriage was fairly robust,
Lots of sex, (but not very much lust),
They both turned a blind eye
To stray roots, the odd lie,
As one might, to save pain, and so must.
The house-keeper
A cold fish? Or just dull? Man or mouse?
Still she’d snare him, feign love, be his spouse.
He’d fall into her arms,
Fool… succumb to her charms!
And he came with a very nice house.
The warp and the weft
She weaved tapestries, sang, played the lute,
But her husband-to-be, the damn brute,
Had requested her hand
To get hold of her land,
And then lock in a tower and root!
Nursing a grudge
Her attendance at school had been cursory,
Then haberdashery, mercery,
Not a great life;
Now she’s somebody’s wife,
Gone to fat, feeding brats in the nursery!
Zen and the art of marriage maintenance
Sunday mornings they’d lie in till ten,
Have a root, cup of tea, root again.
Something more than habitual,
Almost a ritual,
Sacred almost. Sort of Zen.
Scratching an itch
Though a good, faithful wife, I’m afraid
That sometimes she got bored, and she strayed,
Told her husband some lie,
Went out, picked up some guy,
Had a couple of drinks, and got laid.