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There was a young lady of Harrow.
Who complained that her Cunt was too narrow,
For times without number
She would use a cucumber,
But could not accomplish a marrow.

There was a young lady of Glasgow,
And fondly her lover did ask, "Oh,
Pray allow me a fuck,"
But she said, "No, my duck,
But you may, if you please, up my arse go."

There was a young man had the art
Of making a capital tart,
With a handful of shit,
Some snot and a spit,
And he'd flavor the whole with a fart.

There was an old man of Connaught.
Whose prick was remarkably short,
When he got into bed
The old woman said,
"This isn't a prick, it's a wart."

There was a gay Countess of Bray,
And you may think it odd when I say,
That in spite of high station,
Rank and education,
She always spelt Cunt with a K.

There was an old parson of Lundy,
Fell asleep in his vestry on Sunday;
He awoke with a scream,
"What, another wet dream,
This comes of not frigging since Monday."

There was a strong man of Drumrig,
Who one day did seven times frig;
He buggered three Sailors,
Four Jews and two Tailors,
And ended by fucking a pig.

There was an Old Man of the Mountain.
Who frigged himself into a fountain,
Fifteen times had he spent.
Still he wasn't content.
He simply got tired of the counting.

There was a young man of Nantucket.
Who went down a well in a bucket;
The last words he spoke.
Before the rope broke,
Were, "Arsehole, you bugger, and suck it."

A native of Havre de Grace
Once tired of Cunt, said "I'll try arse."
He unfolded his plan
To another young man,
Who said, "Most decidedly, my arse!"

There was a young man of Calcutta
Who thought he would do a smart trick;
So anointed his arsehole with butter.
And in it inserted his prick.

It was not for greed after gold;
It was not for thirst after pelf;
'Twas simply because he'd been told
To bloody well bugger himself.

There was a young lass of Dalkeith,
Who frigged a young man with her teeth;
She complained that he stunk;
Not so much from the spunk;
But his arsehole was just underneath.

There was a gay parson of Norton,
Whose prick, although thick, was a short 'un;
To make up for this loss,
He had balls like a horse.
And never spent less than a quartern.

There was a young man of the Tweed.
Who sucked his wife's arse thro' a reed;
When she had diarrhoea.
He'd let none come near.
For fear they should poach on his feed.

There was an old man of Balbriggan,
Who cunt juice was frequently swigging;
But even to this.
He preferred tom-cat's piss,
Which he kept a pox'd nigger to frig in.

A cabman who drove in Biarritz,
Once frightened a fare into fits;
When reprov'd for a fart,
He said, "God bless my heart
When I break wind I usually shits."

A young woman got married at Chester.
Her mother she kissed and she blessed her.
Says she, "You're in luck,
He's a stunning good fuck.
For I've had himself myself down in Leicester.

There was a young bride of Antigua,
Whose husband had said: "Dear me, how big you are!"
Said the girl: "What damn'd rot,
Why, you've often felt my twot,
My legs and my arse and my figua!"

There once was a young man of Bulgaria,
Who once went to piss down an area,
Said Mary to cook:
"Oh, do come and look,
Did you ever see anything hairier?"