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There once was a dancer named Heather Whose culottes were crotchless and leather. A narcissist, Clem, Kept tugging at them While he tickled her muff with a feather. As Clement thus pleasured his lover, His 'pride' like a bee rose to hover Around her sweet bush Then went for the tush That flushed like a bird from its cover. Said Heather, Ah Clem, you should know, That I married a redneck, Big Beau, So, I cannot get screwed But I’ll dance in the nude And watch you get off on the show. She danced in his lap in the garden When he whispered, I do beg your pardon, Is it true that your sex Has a sinister hex That softens the hardiest hard on? Miss Heather said, Yes it is true, There is one thing a woman can do. She drew him quite near And purred in his ear, You are so ugly, I wouldn’t blow you with somebody else's fan… And that's when her husband appeared. Oho! He cried, tugging his beard. He was angry (and mad). But Heather's new cad, Eschewing the lad, interfered. Clem took her to North Timbuktu. They proceeded to screw and to screw. He rode like a horse While she raped like the Norse. He liked it, of course. Wouldn’t you? And that is how sweet little Heather And Clement had first got together. She swallowed his pride And made him her bride And kept him out back on a tether. And what you might ask of Big Beau? He called our sweet Heather a ho. Then his curses got worse, So after his verse She pitched him outside in the snow. The moral is threefold, I fear: Remember to tether your dear; It’s cool to be zealous, But not over-jealous; And put on a sweater, y’ hear? (Miss Heather has asked me to say After Big Beau went away He returned very soon To tang her young poon And lead Master Clement astray.) |
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