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!”

In

Though his motives were plainly inferior,
Slowly the poor girl grew wearier,
Feeling some friction,
Then, stranger than fiction,
She found he was in her interior!

The getting

Having chased her and finally got her,
He worked her up hotter and hotter:
He lifted her skirt,
Saying “Hush, this won’t hurt.”
He was right, but no less of a rotter!

Hyphenated

He was crude, he blasphemed; she was shocked,
Yet, somehow, in a trice, was un-frocked,
And un-bra-ed and un-knickered,
Sweet-talked, and hard liquored,
Deflowered, and gone off half-cocked!