My pecker saw your pic today/
it filled with blood, oh, right away/
I could not move it left or right/
nor up or down with all my might/
An angled-upward juggernaut/
it thought of nothing but your twat/
I never knew it got that hard/
I think I heard it yell “En guarde!”/
a groinal exclamation point/
it sought your seamage to annoint/
I gripped it just to test its fettle/
twas hard as Oklahoma metal/
So hard that it was almost numb/
across the room I could have cum/
My sperm, it would have burst your eggs/
had it shot between your legs/
Our babies killed before t’were born/
gone before the coming morn/
I stared some more at this pic of you/
every day I see it new/
It never fails to make me howl/
crudish wolf-calls from my bowel/
Up to my lungs, my eyes on stalks/
me wishing that I had ten cocks/
Me screaming “Hubba-hubba, baby!”/
You’re quite the cutie, don’t mean maybe/
I think that we could make some whoopie/
and do some spooning whoop-dee-doopee/
Until we’re both wet, damp and soupy/
and spend the next day tired and droopy/
and come day-3 still no cessation/
of the rituals of procreation/
Crotch to crotch and face to groinage/
locked in dripping oozing joinage/
Skin on skin and cock within/
we’d writhe in serious mortal sin.
–Burma Shave.
