He might be, as the girl said, a wimp,
But the sight of her sinister pimp,
Though he’d fancied a root,
(God! The size of the brute!)
Left him shaking all over and limp.
Tag: root
Rooting for the team
All those cheer-squad girls, small town dreamers,
Their little short skirts and their streamers,
Discuss where they’ll go,
When their boyfriends turn pro…
And, of course, when they root, they’re all screamers!
The knock-back
She’d be up for a root, he appraised,
But thought later on, wounded and dazed,
He’d been rather too blunt…
That the mention of cunt,
Might perhaps have not been so well phrased.
The girl most likely
She was fond of a root, just that way,
User-friendly, perhaps you could say,
In the back of boys’ cars,
Stairways, under the stars,
But no time for love, only for play!
Transparent
His intentions were hardly opaque,
He was after a root, no mistake,
And he wouldn’t go wrong,
But she’d string him along,
For a laugh, and for decency’s sake.
Whimsy
As a rule, she was proper and prim,
But agreed to a root, on a whim.
It was not bad at all,
She would later recall,
Though of course it need not have been him.
It comes down to this
Over years, raised, dashed and rekindled,
Her hopes, understandably, dwindled
Of marital bliss.
Drinks with friends, a chaste kiss,
The odd root. She felt like she’d been swindled.
Anthropology for beginners
Anthropologists all are agreed,
Man made cider and ale and mead
To get girls in the mood
To be taken and screwed,
Be laid claim to, to root more and breed.
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.
It’s a jungle out there
Bloody Tarzan! thought Jane, with a scowl.
Bloody chest-thumping, silly damn howl!
Still, he saved me, I guess,
And I have to confess,
He’s a great root, although he smells foul!