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FOLK POEMS AND BALLADS AN ANTHOLOGY
- An Anthology -
For private
distribution
Not to to mailed,
handled, shipped, sold or distributed in violation of any pertaining federal,
state, local or other regulations.
Folk Poems And Ballads
- An Anthology -
BY
The Author Of The
Limerick, A
Facet of Our Culture
A collection of rare verses and amusing folk songs
compiled from scarce and suppressed books as well as from verbal sources which
modern prudery, false social customs, and intolerance have separated from the
public and historical record.
With Commentary,
Notes, and Sources
The Cruciform Press
Mexico
City
1945
Notice of Limited
Edition
FOLK POEMS AND
BALLADS - AN ANTHOLOGY -
has been printed for a
small number of Experts and Specialists, Scholars, Psychiatrists, Sociologists,
and Anthropologists.
Two Hundred and Fifty Copies have been
manufactured at The Cruciform Press,
Mexico City.
And each is numbered.
This is Number__________. [ <== Not numbered ]
"WHEN
MORALITY TRIUMPHS, NASTY THINGS HAPPEN."
(Remy de Gourmont)
The False Morality of the Age of Heresy Produced
the Inquisition, and the Renaissance Resulted. The False Morality of the Age of
Faith Produced the Witch Mania, and the Industrial Revolution Resulted. The
False Morality of the Twentieth Century Produced Sex Censorship,
and this Book is therefore Dedicated to
THE NEXT AGE OF MAN
and to his Eventual
Freedom from False Myths, Obscure Symbolism, Incredible Superstitions, and
Especially from the Intolerable Burden of False Social Customs now Sponsored by
THE LAW.
INTRODUCTION
The great poems, ballads and folk songs of this
anthology show a broad topical similarity to the limerick. And yet they differ
in many ways from that estimable verse form which I treated at length in THE
LIMERICK, A FACET OF OUR CULTURE (The Cruciform Press, Mexico City, 1944.)
The limerick manifests itself in a consistently
more narrow and disciplined pattern, and has a relatively brief history, which,
while nebulous, can still be dimly traced. These present verses exist now only
as an apparent excrudescence of the literature of all
ages, although it was not till the 18th century that bowdlerization segregated
them from the other works of great poets, and relegated them to hidden shelves.
Limericks are universally anonymous, whereas the authors of at least some of
these poems are still known. Limericks follow a more or less rigid poetic
discipline, while these verses know few if any such strictly formal rhythms and
rimes. The limerick exists today essentially as a manifestation of popular wit.
These verses live almost wholly in forbidden books and in typescripts which
latter achieve a remarkably wide distribution in modern society. And a few folk
songs like "Christopher Columbo" survive
only in the memories of modern troubadours.
There is nothing debauched, aphrodisiacal, or
degenerate in the conception or transmission of these poems among our people.
No aura of evil hangs over them. In an honest and healthy society they would
exist NOT apart from, but as an integral and balanced segment of the
literature, just as sex is an integral and balanced part of a normal person's
life. But when evil, cruel, thwarted, and selfish people whom happiness eludes
take it upon themselves (and invariably for some kind of personal profit) to
legislate the taste of others, then these poems are sought out from the rest of
the literature, segregated, and forbidden to some while they become the
exclusive property of others.
I
This process now going on in
America
is exemplified in accelerated form by Hitler's seizure and destruction of
Edward Fuchs' plates for his magnificent books, while all existing copies were
reprieved for the exclusive use of himself and company. (ILLUSTRIERTE
SITTENGESCHICHTE VOM MITTELALTER BIS ZUR GEGENWART, 6 vols,
1909- 1912; GESCHICHTE DER EROTISCHEN KUNST, 2 vols,
1908-1923; etc. by Edward Fuchs, Albert Langen,
Munchen.)
Since all this now hidden poetry is immortal, it
has always enjoyed a clandestine existence of unparalleled vigour
which has not only compensated for its suppression, but has given it a wholly
false and exaggerated accent. These poems do not belong in an anthology by
themselves, for they are truly part and parcel of our great poetry.
The Puritans and other intolerants by their
processes of expurgation have succeeded in concentrating the basic human
matters treated here to the point of virulence, thus making their complete
suppression as impossible, as it is unnecessary. Only by ignoring things like
excretions and copulation can their effect on our literature and our mores be
diluted, and restored to the true proportion normally found in the lives of
every kind and tolerant individual.
It would probably be impossible to produce a truly
definitive anthology of folk poems, ballads and, songs. This one has taken over
twenty years to compile. I have not sought out these poems. They came to me as
part of life's experience in normal and friendly social intercourse with mostly
fine and inspiring persons.
These verses are in no sense manifestations i.e.
effects of abnormalities observed in modern society. They exist in quite a
healthy and natural way in spite of all the prudery piled upon them. They are
an eternal symbol that mental balance and truth is still found among normal
members of our society. They are a static and harmless social foil for
intolerance, inhumanity, and false social customs. They symbolize on the normal
level legitimate compensations for these cruel and evil forces. It has finally
been proven
II
that false social
customs, and NOT the obvious so-called pornography, are the causes which
produce the sex maniac in the too-sheltered or psychologically ill.
(SEXUAL BEHAVIOR IN THE HUMAN MALE by Alfred C. Kinsey, W. B.
Saunders Pub.
Co., 1948, 804 pp.)
There is no real or proved connection between the
witty and historical inspiration for a poem like Eugene Field's "Socratic
Love" and the mental fire which dissolves the miseducated
sex-thwarted criminal and produces in him anti-social behavior. Some prudes and
reformers with shallow perceptions insist upon such a connection, and by
proposing stupid laws have seriously aggravated the causes of insanity in the
modern world. In reality they are merely trying to account for their own
ignorance and intolerance and bitterness over the fact that they themselves are
not like normal men. That their own frustrations and reactions are a-typical
never occurs to our would-be sex censors.
Furthermore most if not all of these poems are
witty or funny, and since humor has a completely depressing effect on the
erotic sense, one makes himself ridiculous in point of fact by charging them
with aphrodisian properties. Under the stimulus of
the erotic impulse it is true that our sense of values, our aesthetic sense,
undergoes a complete reversal, and we do things
otherwise ridiculous. The intelligent social reformer does not seek in these
wide-spread folk songs for the causes of this change which so mysteriously
takes place in all of us from time to time. He realizes that the needs of an
erection are entirely disseparate forces from those
that motivate our people to this poetry. These folk songs, therefore remain
pure and harmless except to the self-appointed crusader whose
miseducated and often maladjusted mind attributes to
everyone else his own unhealthy reactions. Irrefutable proof of this salient
point is found in A CHALLENGE TO SEX CENSORS by Theodore Schroeder, (Free
Speech League, New York, 1938, 159 pp.) and in TO THE PURE
.... A STUDY OF OBSCENITY AND THE CENSOR by M. L.
Ernst, and
W. Seagle, (The Viking Press, New York, 1928, 336 pp.)
III
A true history of folk verse would long ante-date
the bible, which in itself in the original tongues comprised merely a long
record of tribal copulations and superstitions, along with an extensive
assimilation of previous phallic and solar religions. We are not told today
that there are at least nine different gods referred to by the biblical
writers, nor that the ark, our altar, represents the vagina and contained a
phallus. (SYMBOLISM IN RELATION TO RELIGION, OR CHRISTIANITY: THE SOURCES OF
ITS TEACHING AND SYMBOLISM by James Ballantyne
Hannay; Kegen Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co. Ltd. London, n. d.; c. 1912, 394 pp.)
Earlier the church suppressed and altered the holy
writ, and exercised the same inconsistent censorship on literature now
practised by the state under the manifold disguises of the
law. During the middle ages the church's hypocritical jargon hypnotized the
so-called civilized world. What resulted? The Dark Ages, ignorance, death,
disease, and the Inquisition: historical symbols of the church's heyday! When
the Elizabethans began to throw off the clerical yoke, truth began to
re-establish itself, and the people began to produce the ancestors of the folk
songs found in this book. Life tended to return to the healthy, the sane, the
whole, and civilization moved forward toward a scientific understanding of
matter, if not of man, dragging the church along with it like a piece of toilet
paper clinging to a lady's skirt as she emerges from retirement.
Today we have transferred the cloak of
infallibility to the bureaucratic state, and THE LAW now acts in its own purely
abstract right to try and remove these verses from the very individuals who
begot both the law and the verses! (See THE LAW by Frederic Bastiat,
reprinted in the Freeman, Vol. 1, No. 1, 1944, 64 pp.) When the insanity
resulting from the attempted enforcement of unnatural moral codes reaches the
point where its causes become evident even to the politician's dupes, then we
can look for a new kind of renaissance. Man will throw off his false customs -
he has always done it - and these poems can be assimilated back into our
literature whence intolerance and prudery lifted them.
IV
Intolerant persons have always been able to
swallow religious and now legal inconsistencies with no intellectual resistance
at all; their tenets, usually based on those of superstitious sun-worshipping
villagers who lived in mud huts in the desert 2,000, years ago, have kept the
science of man from being developed, have kept our hearts savage and tuned to
crucifixions. (See THE TEN COMMANDMENTS by Joseph Lewis, Freethought Press Association, New York, 1946, 644 pp.)
The Witch Mania which took so many hundreds of thousand of lives is as nothing
compared to the blind censorships of today which load our institutions with
their victims. (EXTRAORDINARY POPULAR DELUSIONS AND THE
MADNESS OF CROWDS by Charles McKay (1852) L. C. Page & Co., Boston, 1932,
pp. 462-564.)
But some people are never troubled by
discrepancies between what they say and how they act, between saying they love
their neighbor on Sunday, and then being somehow persuaded to bear false
witness against him or even to shoot him on Monday. Such behavior MUST trouble
and confuse the sane and scientific man, and he will be impelled to seek out
the truth wherever it is found, and to pass no judgements
on anyone in his endless search for wisdom and peace.
Many people react intolerantly to real social
phenomena like these verses. Anyone who is for sanity, for peace, for tolerance
is against those blind, unreasoning, a-social forces which have segregated the
poems of this anthology from those of any other.
In conclusion, it should be noted that the selfish
motivations of the zealot and reformer who would disparage these essential folk
poems are very close to those of the dictator and the communist. All their
suppressive activities culminate in the production of more or less healthy
elements which are necessarily called "subversive" to the misbegotten
but always personally profitable legislation such people enact. Like our democracy,
which was once merely an underground movement in an English colony, all vital
forces in time throw off the yokes of suppression.
V
To the truly educated mind there can be no doubt
that these verses are one of the vital forces in
shaping the true dimensions of our modern culture. Indeed I doubt very much if
there was ever presented a more public document than this present book, for it
shows yet another facet of what concerns the average normal healthy individual.
The state in yielding political and religious freedom has been forced to turn
its attention to sex censorship as one means of justifying its own continued
existence. The extreme currency of these poems among all our people
incontrovertibly proves that no amount of legal witch hunting can ever change
the real nature of
Man.
VI
THE BOOK of EZEKIEL (Selections from Chapter XVI)
I have caused you to multiply as the bud of the
field, and you have increased and grown great, and come to have fine sexual
ornaments: your breasts are plump, and your pubic hair is fluffy where before
your mound was bare.
Now when I passed you, and desired to have you,
behold you were having your monthlies, and I spread my cloak over and covered
your nakedness; and we had intercourse and you became mine.
Then I washed you with water. Thoroughly I washed
the blood from your legs and rubbed you with oil.
But you trusted in your own beauty, and became a
famous whore, and had intercourse with all comers.
And in all your copulations you forgot the days of
your youth before your pubic hair had grown, and your monthlies flowed.
You have copulated with the lusty Egyptians, and
taken on more men to make me angry.
You have proven insatiable; you have copulated
with the Assyrians, and have not been satisfied.
You have copulated with countless men in
Canaan,
and still not been satisfied.
To make matters worse, you have not even taken
money for your whoring, but have done it for nothing like a wife committing
adultery. Even whores know that it is poor business not to charge for their
services.
You have been a phallic worshipper, you have
danced naked in the church, and transmitted venereal diseases to your children.
I will gather all your lovers together, and expose your diseased condition to
them.
1
THE HOLY FATHER
(By Sir John Harington)
A godly father sitting on a draught,
To doe as neede, and nature hath us taught,
Mumbled (as was his maner) certain pray'rs,
And unto
him the diuel straight repayr's;
And boldly to reuile him he begins,
Alledging that such praiers are
deadly sins,
And that he shewd he was deuoyd of grace,
To speak to God, from so un meet a place.
The reuerent man, though at the first dismaid,
Yet strong in faith, to Satan thus he said,
Thou
damned spirit wicked, false, and lying
Dispairing
thine owne good, and ours enuying:
Ech take his due, and me
thou canst not hurt,
To God my pray'r I ment, to thee the durt.
Pure
prayer ascends to him that high doth sit,
Downe
fals the filth, for fiendes of
hell more fit.
2
(SONNET) I
(Aretino)
Embrace me dearest, one quick mad embrace,
Since we created were for love and lust,
And if you revel in the phallic thrust,
I yearn for yonder mossy dell apace.
And were debauchery prizeful after death,
I'd bid the dying make a note of this:
Give Adam and his Eve a taste of bliss,
Since love's sweet fire deprived them of Life's
breath.
Yet had these worthies never fallen low,
By eating of the fruit that was denied,
Lust still had rioted and raged on earth,
For beasts and birds were made by nature so,
But jest no more; stem not my passion's tide;
Let hot concupiscence spring now to birth.
And die in sighs that flutter soft and low.
I pray thee act the wanton bold with me,
That both my lance and balls may enter thee.
SONNET XVII
Thou'st seen, I trow, some pictures fine and old
Of pricks of monstrous size and clefts immense,
And thou hast noticed that these daggers bold
Were fitted to their sheaths in every sense.
Behind-before-and everywhere they strayed,
While tongues were mingling in a honeyed kiss;
Of stuff like this are fairy legends made
That awe, exhale, and emulate to bliss.
Ah, well I know the pleasures thou didst find
In gloating o'er these holes and clefts nearby,
Used in a way toward which we're less inclined.
And to the nose that sniffs these places nigh
Come odours that are surely not refined,
Which make us sneeze and sneeze again, and sigh.
The lance of love gives forth a perfume dry
While lasts the act- and if thou hast a doubt,
Place there thy hand-
thou'lt find the odour out.
3
STREPHON AND CHLOE
(By Jonathan Swift, ca 1731)
Of Chloe all the town has
rung
By every size of poet sung;
So beautiful a nymph appears
But once in every twenty thousand years;
By nature formed with nicest care,
And faultless to a single hair.
Her graceful mien, her shape, her face,
Confessed her of no mortal race:
And then so nice, and so genteel;
Such cleanliness from head to heel:
No humours gross or frowzy steams,
No noisome whiffs, or sweaty streams
Before, behind, above, below,
Could from her taintless body flow:
Would so discreetly things dispose
None ever saw her pluck a rose.
Her dearest comrades never caught her
Squat on her hams to make maid's water:
You'd swear that so divine a creature
Felt no necessities of nature.
In summer had she walked the town,
Her arm pits would not stain her gown:
At country dances not a nose
Could in the dog-days smell her toes.
Her milk-white hands, both palms and backs,
Like ivory dry, and soft as wax.
Her hands the softest ever felt,
Though cold would burn, though dry would melt.
Dear Venus, hide this wondrous maid,
Nor let her loose to spoil your trade.
While she engrosses every swain,
You but o'er half the world can reign.
4
Think what a case all men are now in,
What ogling, sighing, toasting, vowing!
What
powder'd wigs!
What flames and darts!
What hampers full of bleeding hearts!
What sword knots!
What poetic strains!
What billet-doux, and clouded canes!
But Strephon sighed so
loud and strong,
He blew a settlement along;
And bravely drove his rivals down
With coach arid six, and house in town.
The bashful nymph no more withstands,
Because her dear papa commands.
The charming couple now unites:
Proceed we to the marriage rites.
Imprimis, at the temple
porch
Stood Hymen with a flaming torch:
The smiling Cyprian Goddess brings
Her infant-loves with purple wings:
And pigeons billing, sparrows treading,
Fair emblems of a fruitful wedding.
The muses next in order follow,
Conducted by their squire Apollo:
Then Mercury with silver tongue;
And Hebe,
goddess ever young.
Behold the bridegroom and his bride,
Walked hand in hand, and side by side;
She, by the tender graces dressed,
But he, by Mars, in scarlet vest.
The nymph was cover'd with her
flammeum,
And Phoebus sung th'
epithalamium.
And last, to make the matter sure,
Dame Juno brought a priest demure.
Luna was absent on pretense
Her time was not till nine months hence.
The rites perform'd, the
parson paid,
In state returned the grand parade;
With loud huzzas from all the boys,
That now the pair must crown their joys.
5
But still the hardest part remains:
Strephon had long
perplex'd
his brains,
How with so high a nymph he might
Demean himself the wedding-night:
For, as he viewed his person round,
Mere mortal flesh was all he found:
His hands, his neck, his mouth, and feet,
Were duly washed, to keep them sweet;
With other parts that shall be nameless,
The ladies else might think me shameless,
The weather and his love were hot:
And, should he struggle, I know what -
Why, let it go, if I must tell it -
He'll sweat, and then the nymph may smell it,
While she, a goddess dy'd in grain,
Was unsusceptible of stain,
And, Venus-like, her fragrant skin
Exhaled ambrosia from within.
Can such a deity endure
A mortal human touch impure?
How did the humbled swain detest
His prickly beard, and hairy chest!
His night-cap bordered round with lace,
Gould give no softness to his face.
Yet if the Goddess could be kind,
What endless raptures must he find!
And Goddesses have now and then
Come down to visit mortal men;
To visit and to court them too:
A certain Goddess, God knows who,
As in a book he heard it read,
Took Colonel Peleus to her bed.
But what if he should lose his life
By venturing on his heavenly wife!
(For
Strephon could remember well,
That once he heard a school-boy tell,
How Semele, of mortal race,
By thunder died in Jove's embrace.)
6
And what if daring Strephon
dies
By lightning shot from Chloe's eyes?
While these reflections filled his head,
The bride was put in form to bed:
He followed, stript, and in he crept,
But awfully his distance kept.
Now consider well, ye parents dear;
Forbid your daughters guzzling beer;
And make them every afternoon
Forbear their tea, or drink it soon;
That, ere to bed they venture up,
They may discharge it every sup;
If not, they must in evil plight
Be often forced to rise at night.
Keep them to wholesome food confined,
Nor let them taste what causes wind:
'Tis this the ancient
sage of
Samos means,
Forbidding his disciples beans.
O! think what evils must
ensue;
Miss Moll the jade will burn it blue;
And, when once she has got the art,
She cannot help it for her heart;
But out it flies, even when she meets
Her bridegroom in the wedding-sheets.
Carminative and diuretic
Will damp all passion sympathetic:
And love such nicety requires,
One blast will put out all his fires.
Since husbands get behind the scene,
The wife should study to be clean;
Nor give the smallest room to guess
The time when wants of nature press:
But after marriage practice more
Decorum than she did before;
To keep her spouse deluded still,
And make him fancy what she will.
In bed we left the married pair:
'Tis time to show how things went there.
7
Strephon, who had been
often told
That fortune still assists the bold,
Resolved to make the first attack;
But Chloe drove him fiercely back.
How could a nymph so
chaste as Chloe,
With constitution cold and snowy,
Permit a brutish man to touch her?
Even lambs by instinct fly the butcher.
Resistance on the wedding night
Is what our maidens claim by right:
And Chloe, 'tis by all agreed
Was maid in thought, in word, and deed.
But some assign a different reason:
That Strephon chose no proper season.
Say, Fair ones, must I make a pause,
Or freely tell the secret cause ?
Twelve cups of tea (with grief I speak)
Had now constrained the nymph to leak.
This point must needs be settled first:
The bride must either void or burst.
Then see the dire effects of pease;
Think what can give the
colick ease.
The nymph oppressed before, behind,
As ships are tossed by waves and wind,
Steals out her hand, by nature led,
And brings a vessel into bed;
Fair utensil, as smooth and white
As Chloe's skin, almost as bright.
Strephon, who heard the
fuming rill
As from a mossy cliff distill,
Cried out, Ye Gods! What found is this!
Can Chloe, heavenly Chloe, piss!
But when he smelt a noisome steam,
Which oft' attends that luke-warm stream:
(Salerno both together joins
As soverign medicines for the loins;)
And though contrived, we may suppose,
To slip his ears, yet struck his nose:
8
He found her, while the scent increased,
As mortal as himself at least.
But soon with like occasions pressed,
He boldly sent his hand in quest
(Inspired with courage from his bride)
To reach the pot on t' other side:
And, as he filled the reeking vase,
Let fly a rouser in her face.
The little Cupids hovering round,
(As pictures prove, with garlands crowned)
Abashed at what they saw and heard,
Flew off, nor ever more appeared.
Adieu to ravishing delights,
High raptures, and romantic flights;
To goddesses so heavenly sweet,
Expiring shepherds at their feet;
To silver meads and shady bowers,
Dressed up with amaranthine flowers.
How great a change! How quickly made!
They learn to call a spade a spade,
They soon from all constraint are freed;
Can see each other do their need.
On box of cedar sits the wife,
And makes it warm for dearest life;
And by the beastly way of thinking,
Find great society in stinking.
Now Strephon daily entertains
His Chloe in the
homliest strains;
And Chloe, more experienced grown,
With interest pays him back his own.
No maid at court is less ashamed
Howe'er for selling bargains famed,
Than she to name her parts behind,
Or when abed to let out wind.
Fair Decency, celestial maid!
Descend from Heaven
to Beauty's Aid!
Though Beauty may beget desire,
'Tis
thou must fan the lover's fire:
9
For Beauty, like supreme dominion,
Is best supported by Opinion:
If Decency bring no supplies,
Opinion falls and Beauty dies.
To see some radiant nymph appear
In all her glittering birthday gear,
You think some Goddess
from the sky
Descended, ready, cut and dry:
But ere you sell yourself to
laughter,
Consider well what may come after;
For fine ideas vanish fast,
While
all the gross and filthy last.
O Strephon, ere that
fatal day
When Chloe stole your heart away,
Had you but through a cranny spied
On seat of ease your future bride,
In all the postures of her face
Which nature gives in such a case;
Distortions,
groanings, strainings,
heavings,
'Twere better you had licked her leavings,
Then from experience find too late
Your goddess grown a filthy mate
Your fancy then had always dwelt
On what you saw and what you smelt;
Would still the same ideas give ye
As when you spied her on the privy;
And, in spite of Chloe's charms divine,
Your heart had been as whole as mine.
Authorities, both old and recent,
Direct that women must be decent;
And from the spouse each blemish hide,
More than from all the world beside.
Unjustly all our nymphs complain
That their empire holds so short a reign;
Is, after marriage, lost so soon,
It hardly holds the honeymoon:
For if they keep not what they caught,
It is entirely their own fault. *
10
They take possession of the crown,
And then throw all their weapons down:
Though, by the politician's scheme,
Whoe'er arrives at power supreme,
Those arts, by which at first they gain it,
They still must practice to maintain it.
What various ways our females take
To pass for wits before a rake!
And in the fruitless search pursue
All other methods but the true!
Some try to learn polite behavior
By reading books against their
Saviour;
Some call it witty to reflect
On every natural defect;
Some show they never want explaining,
To comprehend a double meaning.
But sure a tell-tale out of school
Is of all wits the greatest fool;
Whose rank imagination fills
Her heart, and from her lips distills;
You'd think she uttered from behind,
Or at her mouth was breaking wind.
Why is a handsome wife adored
By every coxcomb but her lord ?
From yonder puppet-man inquire,
Who wisely hides his wood and wire;
Shows
Sheba's
queen completely dressed,
And Solomon in royal vest:
But views them littered on the floor,
Or strung on pegs behind the door;
Punch is exactly of a piece
With Lorrain's Duke, and Prince of Greece.
A prudent builder should forecast
How long the stuff is like to last;
And carefully observe the ground,
To build some foundation sound,
What house, when its materials crumble,
Must not inevitably tumble?
11
What edifice can long endure
Raised on a basis unsecure?
Rash mortals ere you take a wife,
Contrive your pile to last for life:
Since beauty scarce endures a day,
And youth so swiftly glides away;
Why will you make yourself a bubble
To build on sand with hay and stubble?
On sense and wit your passion found,
By decency cemented round;
Let prudence with good-natuise strive,
To keep esteem and love alive.
Then, come old age
whene'er it will,
Your friendship shall continue still:
And thus a mutual gentle fire
Shall never but with life expire.
THE CAMEL AND THE
SPHINX
Now the sex life of the camel
Is not as one may think.
One night in a fit of emotion,
He tried to bugger the sphinx.
But the sphinx's posterior entrance
Was blocked by the sands of the
Nile,
Which accounts for the hump on the camel
And the sphinx's inscrutable smile!
12
A PROLOGUE
(Spoke by Miss Bella de Lancy,
on her retiring from the stage to open a fashionable Bawdy House)
(By S. Johnson, LL.D.)
When Cunt first triumphed (as the learned suppose)
O'er falling pricks, Immortal Dildo rose,
From fucks unnumbered, still erect he drew,
Exhausted cunts, and then demanded new;
Dame nature saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting pricks toiled after him in vain;
The laxest folds, the deepest depths he filled;
The juiciest drained; the toughest hymens drilled.
The fair lay gasping with distended limbs,
And unremitting
cockstands
stormed their quims.
Then Frigging came, instructed from the school,
And scorned the aid of India-rubber tool.
With restless finger, fired the
dormant's blood,
Till Clitoris rose, sly, peeping thro' her hood.
Gently was worked this titillating art,
It broke no hymen, and scarce stretched the part;
Yet lured its votaries to a sudden doom,
And stamped Consumption's flush on Beauty's bloom.
Sweet Gamahuche found ways to fame,
It asked not Dildo's art, nor Frigging's flame.
Tongue, not prick, now probes the central hole,
And mouth not cunt, becomes
prick's destined goal.
It always found a sympathetic friend;
And pleased limp pricks, and those who could not
spend.
No tedious wait, for laboured stand, delays
The hot and pouting
cunt,
which tongue allays.
13
The taste was luscious, tho'
the smell was strong;
The fuck was easy, and would last so long;
Till wearied tongue found
gamahuching cloy,
And pricks and
cunts grew callous to the joy.
Then dulled by frigging, by mock pricks enlarged,
Her noble duties Cunt but ill discharged.
Her
nymphae droop'd, her
devil's bite grew weak,
And twice two pricks might flounder in her creek;
Till all the edge was taken off the bliss,
And
Cunt's sole occupation was to piss.
Forced from her former joys, with scoff and brunt,
She saw great Arsehole lay
the ghost of Cunt.
Exulting buggers hailed the joyful day,
And piles and hemorrhoids confirmed his sway.
But who lust's fancies can explore,
And mark the whimsies that remain in store?
Perhaps it shall be deemed a lover's treat,
To suck the flowing
quims of mares in heat;
Perhaps, where beauty held unequalled sway,
A Cochin fowl shall rival Mabel Grey;
Nobles be ruined by the
Hyaena's smile,
And seals get short engagements from
th' Argyle.
Hard is her lot, that here by Fortune placed,
Must watch the wild vicissitudes of taste;
Catch every whim, learn every bawdy trick,
And chase the new born bubbles of the prick;
Ah, let not Censure term our fate, our choice,
The Bawd but echoes back the public voice;
The Brothel's laws, the Brothel's patron's give,
And those that live to please must please to live;
Then purge these growing follies from your hearts,
And turn to female charms and female arts;
'Tis yours this night, to bid the reign begin,
Of all the good old-fashioned ways to sin;
Clean wholesome girls, with lip, tongue,
cunt and
hand,
Shall raise, keep up, put in, take down a stand;
Your bottoms shall by lily hands be bled,
And birches blossom under every bed.
14
THE CRICKET AND THE
CRAB-LOUSE
Tune: "Derry, Down, Down"
(By Robert Burns)
As a crab-louse and flea went hunting together,
They took shade in a rose from the heat of the weather;
This rose being fairer by far than the rest
Was plucked by a lady and stuck in her breast: •
These hunters, perceiving a fair open track,
'Twixt two hills white as snow, took the road to her back;
Then descending all day, reached the village by night,
OH HO! says the flea, here's an inn I'll alight.
And I, says the crab-louse, will pass through this
gap,
And without the expense of an inn, go take my nap:
I see a small hovel, and in it I'll stay,
So onward he jogged to go sleep in the hay.
Thus possessed of the settlements, back and
frontier,
They hoped from encroachments to keep themselves
clear.
But both climate and foe had combined to annoy,
Nor would grant them a day their domains to enjoy.
For scarce had the flea taken one sip at his
claret
When the tenement shook from cellar to garret.
Then a strange rumbling noise from the passage did roar
Which drove the poor tippler behind the street door.
A sultry salt shower succeeded this storm,
Which drove him all drenched, like a hare from its
form,
Through the smoking wet grass he was glad for to run
And swore while he lived that damned inn he would shun.
In the morning he meets with the crab-louse, his
friend,
And relates his adventures, and soon makes an end:
Now with me, says the crab, still worse fortune took place:
When I tell you my sufferings you'll pity my case.
In the midst of my hay I discovered a cave,
As deep as a coal pit, as dark as a grave:
With black thorns and stiff brambles all growing about,
So I feared to go in lest I should never get out.
15
Soon a giant approached me, a Cyclops, I ween,
For only one eye on his forehead was seen,
Who drove me from brier to bramble full sore:
Then entering himself, thrust me in before.
Though wide was the cave, he could hardly get in,
So in forcing the passage he rubbed off his skin:
Then he strained and he swelled, and still bigger he grew,
Till forth from his forehead his brains at me flew.
Now the fray at the end, like a half-drowned mole
I crept to the top to peep out of my hole:
And there I perceived all at once with surprise,
This giant was shrunk to a
pigmean
size.
So I slily slipt by, overjoyed to escape,
For I dreaded him still, (though so altered in shape):
And here I am come in the pickle you see,
And the devil himself may go lodge there for me.
Though if I might advise it, these borders he'll
shun,
Where he'll meet with a giant, as sure as a gun,
Who valuing our blades, nor our bullets a dam
Like the Romans, attacks with a huge battering ram.
For just as I passed him, I saw at his back,
Two large ponderous paving stones tied in a sack:
Ay ay, cried the flea, that same sack I did see,
For ofttimes with great vengeance he banged it at me.
But I managed so well that I kept out of reach
Of this terrible engine that batters in breach:
And now that these perils are over our heads
I hope that we may peaceably die in our beds.
16
NAE HAIR ON'T
Tune: "Gillicrankie"
(By Robert Burns)
Yestreen I wed a lady
fair,
And ye wad believe me,
On her cunt grows
nae hair
That's the thing that grieves me.
It vex'd me sair, it
plagu'd me sair,
It put me in a passion,
To think that I had wed a wife
Whose
cunt was out of fashion.
HOW CAN I KEEP MY
MAIDENHEAD
Tune: "The Birks o' Abergelddie"
How can I keep my maidenhead,
My maidenhead, my maidenhead:
How can I keep my maidenhead
Among sae
mony men, O.
The captain bad a guinea
for't,
A guinea for't, a guinea
for't:
The captain bad a guinea for't,
The colonel he bad ten, O.
But I'll do as minnie did,
My
minnie did, my minnie
did:
But I'll do as my minnie did,
For
siller I'll hae
nane, O.
I'll gie it to a bonie lad:
A bonie lad, a bonie lad:
I'll gie it to a bonie lad
For just as good again, O.
An auld moulie maidenhead,
A maidenhead, maidenhead,
An auld moulie maidenhead,
The weary wark I ken, O.
The
stretchin' o't, the
striving o't,
The borin'
o't, the rivin' o't,
And ay the double
drivin' o't,
The farther ye gang ben, O.
17
THE PLENIPOTENTIARY
Tune: "The Terrible Law," or "Shawnbruce".
(By Robert Burns)
The Bey of Algiers, when
afraid of his ears,
A messenger sent to our court, sir,
As he knew in our state that the women had weight,
He chose one well hung for the sport, sir.
He searched the Divan, 'till he found out a man,
Whose ballocks were heavy
and hairy,
And he lately came o'er, from the
Barbary shore,
As the great Plenipotentiary.
When to England he came with his prick in a flame
He showed it to his hostess on landing,
Who spread its renown through all parts of the town,
As a
pintle past all understanding;
So much there was said of its snout and its head,
That they called it the great Janissary,
Not a single lady could sleep, till she got a sly peep,
At the great Plenipotentiary."
As he rode in the coach, how the whores did
approach,
And stared as if stretched on a tenter,
He drew every eye of the dames that pass by,
Like the sun to its wonderful center;
As he passed through the town not a window was down,
And the maids hurried out to the area,
The children cried, "Look, there's the man with the cock,
That's the great Plenipotentiary."
When he came to the court, oh, what giggle and
sport,
Such squinting and squeezing to view him,
What envy and spleen in the women were seen,
All happy and pleased to get near him;
They vowed from their hearts if men of such parts,
Were found on the coast of Barbary.
'Tis a shame not to bring a whole guard for the King,
Like the great Plenipotentiary.
18
The dames of intrigue, formed their cunts in a league,
To take him in turns like good folks, sir,
The young misses' plan was to catch as catch can
And all were resolved on a stroke, sir,
The cards to invite flew by thousands each night,
With bribes to the old secretary,
And the famous Eclipse was not let for more leaps
Than the great Plenipotentiary.
When his name was announced, how the women all bounced,
And their blood hurried up to their faces,
He made them all itch from navel to breech,
And their bubbies burst out of their laces;
There was such damned work to be fucked by a Turk,
That nothing their passion could vary
All the nations fell sick for the Barbary prick
Of the great Plenipotentiary.
A Duchess whose duke made her ready to puke,
With fumbling and fucking all night, sir,
Being first for the prize, was so pleased with its size,
That she begged for to stroke its big snout, sir,
"My stars," cried her grace, "its head's like a mace,
'Tis as high as the Corsican fairy,
I'll make up, please the pigs, for dry bobs and frigs,
With his great Plenipotentiary."
And now to be bored by this Ottoman lord,
Came a virgin far gone on the wane, sir,
She resolved for to try, though her cunt was so dry,
That she knew it must split like a cane, sir,
True it was as she spoke, it gave way at each stroke,
But oh, what a wonderful quandary,
With one terrible thrust, her old piss-bladder bust,
On his great Plenipotentiary.
19
The next to be tried was an alderman's bride,
With a
cunt that could swallow a turtle,
She had horned the dull brows of her worshipful spouse,
Till they sprouted like Venus' myrtle;
Through thick and through thin, bowel deep he dashed in,
Till her cunt frothed like cream in a dairy,
And expressed in loud farts she was strained in all parts,
By the great Plenipotentiary.
The next to be kissed on the Plenipo's
list,
Was a delicate maiden of honor,
She screamed at the sight of his prick, in a fright,
Though she'd had the whole palace upon her;
"O Lord," she said, "what a prick for a maid,
Do, pray, come look at it, Cary!
But I will have one drive if I'm ripped up alive
By this great Plenipotntiary.
Two sisters next came Peg and Molly by name,
Two ladies of very high breeding,
Resolved one should try, while the other stood by,
And watched the amusing proceeding;
Peg swore by the gods, that the Mussulman's cods,
Were as big as both buttocks of Mary,
Molly cried with a grunt, "He has ruined my
cunt;
With his great Plenipotentiary."
The next for this plan, was an old harridan,
Who had swallowed huge pricks from each nation,
With over-much use, she had broken the sluice,
'Twixt her
cunt and its lower relation;
But he stuck her so full that she roared like a bull,
Crying out she was bursting and weary,
So tight was she stuck was this wonderful fuck,
Of the great Plenipotentiary.
20
The next for the shag came the Yankee flag,
Though lanky and scraggy in figure,
She was fond of the quid, for she had been well rid,
From Washington down to a nigger;
"Oh my! such a size, I guess it's first prize
It's a wonder, quite next to Ni-a-gary,
W-a-a-l, now I'm in luck, stranger, let's fuck,
Bully for the Plenipotentiary!"
All heads were bewitched, and longed to be
stitched,
Even babies would languish and linger,
And the boarding school miss, as she sat down to piss,
Drew a Turk on the floor with her finger;
For fancied delight, they all clubbed for a
shite,
To frig in the school necessary,
And the teachers in France fucked a la distance,
With the great Plenipotentiary.
Each sluice-cunted bawd
who'd been well-screwed abroad
Till her premises gaped like a grave, sir,
Found luck was so thick, she could feel the Turk's prick,
Though all others were lost in her cave, sir;
The nymphs of the stage, did this ramrod engage,
Made him free of their gay seminary;
And the Italian Signors opened all their back-doors,
To the great Plenipotentiary.
Then of love's sweet reward, measured out by the
yard,
The Turk was most blest of mankind, sir,
For his powerful dart went home to the art,
Whether stuck in before or behind, sir;
But no pencil can draw, this great
pintled Bashaw,-
Then let each cunt-loving contemporary,
As cocks of the game, let's drink to the name
Of the great Plenipotentiary!
21
THE CURIOUS WANTON
(By Thomas Rowlandson)
Miss Chloe in a wanton way
Her durgling would needs
survey.
Before the glass displays her thighs
And at the sight with wonder cries,
"Is this the thing that day and night
Makes men fall out and madly fight ?
The source of sorrow and of joy
Which King and beggar both employ?
How grim it looks, yet enter in,
You'll find a fund of sweets begin!"
THE LARKING CULL
(By Thomas Rowlandson)
While on the bed the nymph
reclined
Damon resolved to please his mind.
His generation tube he shows,
Between her swelling breasts it goes.
His fingers to her touch-hole sent
Alas to give her small content.
A larger thing would give more pleasure
She always loves to have full measure,
And who for greater joys do hunt
Than rising bubbies and a
cunt.
22
TO ROSALIE
(By Lord Byron)
When in the soft still night all are asleep,
Into thy chamber of delight I creep.
Finding thee deep in innocent repose.
Lips half apart, like petals of a rose
In spring-time when they have just begun to spread,
So are thy lips-as delicate and red.
As I creep near, I see thee turn and sigh
(As though some spirit told thee what
thine eye
Doth fail to see). And as I bend over thee
Through the darkness I can dimly see
Thy budding breasts, fair flowers of delight,
Gleam with a shimmer, fairly white.
Gently I raise the coverlet from around
The dearest treasure man ever found.
Soft sinuous limbs of matchless shape and grace,
Hips filled with pleasure, shoulders to embrace,
Soft round delicious body, white and warm,
Gould anything be sweeter than thy form?
Moments I stand, enjoying ecstasies
Of expectations-glorious moments these;
Then not postponing longer joys divine
I slip between the covers and entwine
My arm around thy body, and, in turn,
I feel thy soft arms grow tight, and seem to burn
With fires that are not earthly.
Now they find mine, and close I draw
Thy quivering lips.
Thy fairy fingers creep with soft caress
O'er my trembling body, and no less
Do I with gentle motion stroke thine own
Limbs that promise pleasures still unknown.
23
Now doth my body gently blend with thine
And gently begin to move. I hear thee sigh,
And reaching down, I touch the ruby tips
Of thy round and lovely breasts with searing lips.
Now I am a god. Earth falls away
Into dim distance, and I fall swifter away.
Sweet on my neck, hot fast breath I feel.
Faster I go, my very senses reel-
Swifter, and even swifter flows my blood.
O joyous thrill! Then an aching flood I pour in
thee Mingling it with thine,
Easing the rapturous pain that maketh mine.
Sweet in each other's arms we pant and lie.
Would that it might be given me
of such joy to die.
But no, I shall return
To still again the fires that
yearn
For yet another flood of cool
delight.
Gentle and soft thy fingers are and light
Their touch between my loins.
They slowly beat youth into my blood until
I repeat the loveliest of rituals,
And again, I blend with thee, and feel again
The pain of passion, till at last the cooling
stream
Flows into thee and leaves me in a dream.
So through the night we play, until at last
Slumber doth bind my eyelids tightly fast.
And in thine arms I
sleep, thy skin so fair
Blending with mine, our bodies close and bare
And bound in love's design.
Then comes the dawn
And leaving thee slumbering, I am up and gone.
One thing I stop for -- this and only this:
On thy sweet lips I press a farewell kiss!
24
ENCHANTMENT
(By Lord Byron)
Upon my garret couch I lay.
'Twas a hot and sultry day.
My thoughts, for I was dreaming half
Were broken by a silvery laugh
Which fell upon my startled ear
Clear, distinct, and very near.
I rose and followed up the sound,
And in the wall a crevice found.
'Twas from the floor full five feet high.
To it I placed my prying eye,
And was rewarded with a sight
Which thrilled and filled me with delight.
Youth and maid were in the room,
And both had youth's fair beauteous bloom.
She seemed of age about sixteen,
While he two summers more had seen.
Each was with the other highly pleased.
Their dress was scant indeed, for she
Was clad only in her thin chemise,
While the youth did also lack
All but a single garment to his back.
There this youth and beauteous maid
Still kissed, and hugged, and toyed, and played,
Till at last his free hand wandered o'er
The charms beneath the garb she wore.
Then, getting warm, he bade her lift
Up to her waist her dainty shift.
25
This she did, and thus displayed
The fairest limbs that
e'er
a maid
To lover's kindling eyes displayed.
He as yet not quite contented
Bade her then to cast aside
The garb which did her beauty hide.
Her swelling globes, her parting lips,
Her snow-white throat where passion sits,
Her curved abdomen, and her loins,
Where each plump thigh its sister joins,
Her shapely arms, her rosy skin,
Revealing currents warm within,
Her long white legs so straight and neat,
Tapering to her dainty feet,
Not these he saw, but glued his eyes
Upon the spot between her thighs.
The ruby entrance to her heart
Where Cupid longed to cast his dart
Was yet unhid by shady curls
As is the case with older girls,
But by a peach's luscious rind
Kept its coral lips defined.
There's many a youth and blushing maid
Who are under-mined by capillary glade,
And she in turn to show her spleen
Will lift up high her crinoline,
Or for some fond lad will play at joy
With his readily erected toy.
But to my tale, this youth was left
Still gazing at that open cleft
Into which his finger then did fly
Which raised his passion to the sky.
26
Then casting off his garment there
He stood as
naked and as fair.
He about her his arms entwined.
He felt each part, before,
behind.
Nor was she idle, for her hand
Grasped something which it
hardly spanned.
And as she did her grasp resign
Her finger opened wide the shrine
Into which with gladness and content
His sturdy uncapped pilgrim went.
There, with a movement known to wives
Deep in the gaping chasm dives,
And through and through
triumphant goes
Straight through the middle of the rose.
Then with one last
convulsive throe
They felt love's burning lava flow.
Thus on her back supremely laid
She to her panting lover said,
"My love, I know, though I am undone,
I've never had a sweeter one.
Not even when you first did steal
Your hands between my legs to feel,
And then before my burning eyes
You displayed a thing of such a size
That I was frightened by the look;
And then again upon my bed
You stormed and took my maidenhead,
I felt full well each loving thrust
Increasing love's provoking
lust.
While passion held triumphant sway
Until our senses died away."
27
SOCRATIC LOVE
(By Eugene Field)
The story goes that Socrates, that wise Athenian
codger,
Carried, concealed about his clothes, a - rare avis - dodger,
Wherewith he used, when as he felt particularly
nippy,
To ransack holes that did not appertain to his
Xantippe.
Young Alcidiades, they
say, was such a pink of fashion,
As to excite old Socrates into a flame of passion,
Which spurred him not Xantippewards
to coddle and to hug 'er,
But filled him with a violent and lewd desire to
bugger.
Now wit ye well that in those parts, 'twas not
considered nasty
For sage philosophers to turn their tools to
pederasty.
The sapient Plato, whom they called in those old
times "The Master,"
Did know - a tergo -, as they say, a pretty boy
hight Aster;
And old Diogenes, who thrived by raising of the
dickens,
Was wont to occupy all bums, from pupils down to
chickens;
Whilst that revered and austere
man, the great and pious Solon,
Did penetrate a Thracian youth unto his transverse colon.
In short, it was the usual thing for horny Greeks
to diddle
This gummy vent, instead of that with which the ladies
piddle.
Now Alcibiades was tall
and straight as any arrow;
His buttocks thrilled old Socrates unto his very marrow.
No hairs as yet profaned the vale that cleft those
globes asunder,
No hairs to interrupt the course of his diurnal ordure
And gather from that excrement a rank dilberric bordure.
His sphincter was as fair a band, so Socrates
protested,
As ever kept one's vituals
in, or passed them when digested.
28
No hemorrhoids had ever marred its soft and
sensuous beauty,
And on its virgin fords no prick had spent its pleasing
duty;
Like some sweet bud it nested there; the winds
blew gently through it
Scenting the breeze; old Socrates more madly longed to
do it.
But Alcibiades was wont
to make absurd objection
When Socrates proposed the scheme of forming a connection.
The youth conceived the childish whim that buggery
was nasty,
And kept the horny old philosopher from being over
hasty.
And so he grew from day to day, his bum waxed
hourly fatter,
And Socrates was nearly dead to get at that fecal matter.
It so befell that on a day in sweaty summer
weather,
They walked into the Acropolis quite casually
together;
And as they walked the youth bent down to tie his
sandal laces -
They always come unloosed, you know, at meanest times and places -
And as he stooped he lifted high and left without
protection
The virgin tract of his lower gut from pod to sigmoid
flexion.
For weeks and months old Socrates had had a
priapism
His pond'rous cods, a sight for Gods, were
supercharged with gism.
Seeing that bum and this first chance, he made up
his mind to spot 'em,
So he hit 'em a lick with
his Attic prick, and occupied Alcy's bottom.
In vain the poor Athenian boy begged, bellowed, pissed and farted;
Full twenty minutes 'lapsed before his friend and he were parted.
29
And while old Socrates explored the tantalizing
glories
Of rugae and of plicae, and of quivering levatores,
The victim of his lust cried out, "Ehue, that
all in vain I
Should to this hour have kept intact my rosy sphincter
ani.
Fool that I was to keep it sweet and clean for this old dodger,
With his three-cornered
velper
and his greasy balls to rodger!
Why did I not yield up my charms to Xenophon's embraces
As I have had the chance to do at divers times and
places?
Why not have given up my wealth of callipygous
treasure
To handsome Cimon's burning
lust or pious Plato's pleasure?
How would these men have gloried in my coy and virgin rectum,
With nary a thought of vagrant dung, or condoms to protect 'em;
But now, ye Gods, this lecherous goat with sardonic
sculduggery
Doth rive my arse in twain with his incarnate god of
buggery,
And when he pulls the pintle out with which he just
now shuts in
The sigh my liver longs to vent, how shall I keep my guts in?"
Thus railed the youth against the fate that
threatened to undo him;
But Soc, all heedless of his cries, right briskly socked it to him.
He packed his sperm so firmly in that colon soft
and callow
That when thereafter Alcy
pooped the poop was mostly tallow.
30
THE FAIR
LIMOUSIN
(By Eugene Field)
Since
Butler
sang of dildoes, and Villon
loved to treat
Of certain cross-grained margots
whom he'd rogered on the street;
Since Rabelais and
Rochester
and Chaucer chose to sing
Of that which gave them subtle joy, -that is to
say,-the thing -,
Why should not I, an
humble bard, be pardoned if I write
Of a certain strange occurrence which has lately come to light?
One evening in December, on the Boulevard de Prix,
While the sombre bells of
Notre Dame announced the hour of six
A dapper wight named
Edward met, tripping on her way
A madam with a character and a gown quite
decollete
A babbling, buxom, blooming, billowy-bubbied dame,
Camille Maria Jesus Hector
Limousin,
by name.
Though fair she was of countenance, she was as
lewd a bitch
As ever wallowed in a bed or mouzled
in a ditch;
And maugre wealth or
family, she was as foul a minx
As ever fondled scabby cods or nursed
gangrescent dinks.
She tumbled one American, and with his drooling yard
The august house of Grevy
fell, and fell almighty hard.
She toyed with Simon's senile tape, and burned
Clemenceau's tail;
With howling Rochefort had
she drunk of Mother Watkin's ale.
With Perier, and with Carnot she had wrestled for a fall:
She had drained old
Goulet 'til he lay,no good, against the wall.
She did not swive for
sustenance, she rather lived to swive,
And at the two-backed beast, she beat the
veriest whore alive.
31
No prurient dame of high degree, no wench of
tarnished fame,
Could be compared with
Limousin
at this close-buttock game.
The Greeks had sixteen postures, and the Hindoos sixty-four,
And Cleopatra's aggregate was seventy-five or more.
What were a hundred postures to this fantastic Queen ?
She had at least a thousand, and each of them - tres
bien -.
On top, the pumping method, or lying on the side,
Or spread upon her billowy bum - a la- the blushing bride,
Or standing up, or sitting down, or resting on all four,
Whereby the visitor could take his choice of either door;
Or dressed or naked, every way her genius could invent
To catch the silvery substance that
tickleth when
'tis spent.
She'd nig-nog, duffle,
snuggle, concomitate and quag;
She'd dance "The Shaking of the Sheets", fadoodle,
wap and shag
She'd "Come the Caster,"
niggle, jerk, and
"Hear the Nightingale;"
She'd nest-hide, dance "St. Leger's Round", and do it with her tail;
She'd break her leg above the knee, pound, click,
and tread as well,
And with a Holy Father, put the Devil into Hell.
She'd wrestle, bang, cohabit, futuore,
cram and jig,
Jumme, copulate, accompany,
swive,
fornicate and frig;
Go goosing or grousing, and if needs be
cooning go,
Rasp, roger, diddle, bugger, screw, canoodle,
kife
and mow.
There was no form of harlotry, nor any size of tarse
That had not run the gauntlet 'twixt her nostrils and
her arse.
What shall I term that slimy pit-like orifice of
sin,
That let her liquefactions out and other factions in ?
A tuppence, twitchet,
coney, commodity, or nock,
Pudendum, titmouse,
dummel-herd, quaint merkin, naf or jock?
32
Call it whatever you please, there's nothing in a
name,
And though it had been dubbed a rose, it would have
smelt the same.
And he? He was as fine a
buck as ever topped a ewe,
Or with his facile penis clave a virgin's clam in two.
The flush of lusty manhood lent its beauty to his
face,
And the outlines of his sturdy frame were full of
virile grace.
But what seemed fairer far than these, to
Limousin's
fair eyes,
Was the - ne plus ultra - velper that swung between his thighs.
To this illustrious pego
and its adjacent flop
Let other kingoes, lobs and yards in adoration drop;
These other virgas,
placket-rackets, pintles, stunts and jocks
And all the brood of
priapismic,
candidates for pox;
Fie, on the mewing mentulae,
for what, oh, what were these
Besides that phallic glory that hung below his knees ?
Your pillycocks are
competent for tickling mouse's ears,
And tools hight lobs are
brute enough to bring forth bridal tears,
But the velper that's
ambitious to enact heroic roles
Must be of such proportions as to stretch the roomiest
holes;
With dornicks so
proficient that when they cease to spout,
The lady cannot pee the dose but has to cough it out.
This tool of his was one foot long, and had three
corners to it;
Its beveled velvet head stood up, when in the mood
to do it,
And as it stood, and breathed and purred, murmured
sort o' sadly.
What woman, if she felt at all, but hankered for
it madly?
And then, those cods, when hands in amorous dalliance squeezed them,
They'd throw a stream which, ladies say, beyond all
telling pleased them.
33
This monumental penis had frigged through all
creation,
The jibby, bouser, beagle, bawd of every nation;
The courtesan, the concubine, the siren and the
harlot,
The widow in her grassy weeds, the splatter-dash in
scarlet;
The madam in her drawing room, with social homage
honored,
The washee-washee almond eye
whose quim is cat-a-cornered.
From
Colorado
in the West to
Mannheim in the
East,
(And that's a goodly distance-six thousand miles at least)
This prick had mown a swath of twats of every size
and age,
So numerous that I could not write their number on
this page.
Where'er he went he left
behind a gory, gummy trail
Of lacerated, satiated, ripped-up female tail.
'Twas to the bearer of
this tool that Limousin applied
For the pleasant little service that he'd never yet denied,
And when she asked him, "Voulez?"
he was fly enough to see
He would have to meet a crisis, so he bravely answered, "Oui!"
A crisis is a crisis, but a French one, we've
heard tell,
Out-crises all crises, and that is simply Hell.
He modestly unfolded his
brobdingnagian prick,
And hit that foreign madam's thing just one gosh-awful lick;
She gave a grewsome tremor,
and shrieked aloud "Mon Dieu!"
Her eye-balls rolled up in her head, her lips turned black and blue;
But there she lay and sozzled
'till he pumped her full, and then
He went and hired a doctor to sew her up again.
34
THE WANTON LASS
(Tune: "Derry Down")
There was a lass they called bonny Bet,
With a jolly fat ass, and a
cunt
black as jet.
Her quim had long itched, and she wanted,
I vow, A jolly good fucking, but couldn't tell how.
She thought of a plan that might serve as the
same,
That herself she might shag without any shame;
So a carrot she got, with a point rather blunt,
And she rammed it and jammed it three parts up her
cunt.
She liked it. so well that she oft used to do it,
Till at length the poor girl had occasion to rue it;
For one day, when amusing herself with this whim,
The carrot snapped off, and part stuck in her
quim.
She almost went mad with vexation at this;
Indeed in due time the poor girl couldn't piss.
The lass was in tortures, no rest had poor Bet,
Though her back teeth were floating her
quiff
wouldn't wet.
The doctor was called, she told him the case.
He put his spectacles on and pulled a long face.
He bid her turn up, though she scarcely was able,
And pull her petticoats over her navel.
Her clouts she held up, round her belly so plump,
And he gave her fat
arse such a hell of a thump,
That he made her cry out,
tho' he did it so neat
That out flew the carrot out into the street.
Now a sweep passing by, he saw it coming down,
Picked it up, and he ate it, and said with a frown,
"By God, it's not right! It's a damned shame, I say,
That people should throw buttered carrots away!"
35
ON A FART
Gentlest Blast of ill Concoction,
Reverse of high-ascending Belch;
The stink abhorred by Scotchmen,
Beloved and
practised by the Welch.
Softest note of inward Griping,
Sir Reverence's finest part;
So fine it needs no Pains of wiping,
Except it be a Brewer's Fart.
Swiftest Ease of
Cholick Pains,
Vapour from a secret Stench,
That's rattled by the unbred Swains,
But whispered by the bashful Wench.
Shapeless Fart, we ne'r can
shew
thee,
But in that noble Female Sport,
In which by burning Blue we know thee,
Th' Amusement of the Maids at Court.
36
INTO THE BARGAIN
Two lads were out on Hertford Heath
And being flush of money,
Offered two shillings to a wench
To let them view her
cunny.
They viewed it with extreme delight,
Stark naked and provoking;
They paid their shillings for the sight,
But no touching and no stroking.
Now said the cunning little slut,
"Just add a sixpence each;
And you shall feel my quivering scut,
And I'll let you feel my breech."
"What fun!" exclaim the simple boys,
So they the shilling paid;
Then pulling up her smock behind,
Her bottom she displayed.
And so they fondled and felt their fill;
Then cried the giggling lass,
"Your bargain shall be better still;
Say please, and I'll let you kiss my ass!"
37
THE YOUNGEST CHILD
She lay stark naked between the sheets,
So nice and fat and chubby;
And I myself beside her lay a-chewing on her bubby.
I kissed her lips in crazy glee,
And 'neath her chin did
chuck her.
Our thighs did intermingle,
And I began to fuck her.
"Pull out," she cried, "pull out! pull
out,
Or I'll get into trouble."
I did, and on her snow-white breast
That stream did squirt and bubble.
I looked into her frightened face
And, with a smile of mirth,
I said, "I guess that is the youngest child
That you have ever nursed."
She scooped it up with one fair hand,
And with a glad ha, ha,
She threw the load into my face
And said, "Child, go kiss your papa!"
38
A LITTLE PIECE OF
WHANG
I'll tell you a little story, just a story I have
heard,
And you'll swear it's all a fable, but it's gospel
every word.
When the Lord made father Adam, they say he
laughed and sang,
And sewed him up the belly with a little piece of
whang.
But when the Lord was finished he found he'd
measured wrong;
For when the whang was
knotted, 'twas several inches long.
Said He, " 'Tis but eight inches, so I guess I'll let it
hang."
So He left on Adam's belly that little piece of
whang.
But when the Lord made Mother Eve I imagine he did
snort.
For He found the whang he sewed her with was several
inches short.
'"Twill leave an
awful gap," said He, "but I should give a damn,
She can fight it out with Adam for that little piece of
whang!"
So ever since that day when Human life began,
There's been a constant struggle 'twixt the woman and
the man.
Women swear they'll have the piece that from our
belly hangs,
To fill the awful crack left when the Lord ran out of
whang.
So let us not be jealous boys, with that which
women lack,
But lend that little piece of whang
to fill that awful crack.
39
THE JOLLY TINKER
There was a jolly tinker
And he came from Dungaree
With half a yard of fungus
Hanging down below his knee.
The landlady's daughter
Coming from the ball
Saw the jolly tinker
Lashing piss against the wall.
O tinker, O tinker,
I'm in love with you,
O tinker, O tinker,
Will half a dollar do?
Oh he screwed her in the parlor,
He fucked her in the hall,
And the servant said,
"By Jesus, He'll be jumping on us all!"
O daughter, O daughter,
You were a silly fool
To get to fucking with a man
Whose tool is like a mule.
O mother, O mother,
I thought that I was able,
But he split me up the belly
From the cunt up to the navel!
Chorus:
With his long, long dilly-whacker,
Over-grown kidney cracker,
Looking for a scrimmage
Around the belly
whang.
40
THE PIONEERS
The pioneers have hairy ears,
They piss through leather britches,
They wipe their ass on broken glass
Those hardy sons-of-bitches!
When cunt is rare they
fuck a bear,
They knife him if he snitches;
They knock their cocks against the rocks,
Those hardy sons-of-bitches!
They take their ass upon the grass,
From fairies or from witches;
Their two-pound dinks are full of kinks
Those hardy sons-of-bitches!
Without remorse they fuck a horse,
And beat him if he twitches;
Their mighty dicks are full of nicks,
Those hardy sons-of-bitches!
To make a mule stand for the tool,
He's beat with hickory switches;
They use their pricks for walking sticks,
Those hardy sons-of-bitches!
Great joy they reap from buggering sheep
In sundry bogs and ditches;
Nor give a dam if it be a ram-
Those hardy sons-of-bitches!
The pioneers are a hardy race,
They bother not with trifles,
They hang their balls upon the walls,
And shoot at them with rifles!
When booze is rare they do not care,
They take a shot of Fitches;
They fuck their wives with butcher knives,
Those hardy sons-of-bitches!
41
IN
MOBILE
(Note: in the version of this song, as it is
actually sung, the first line is repeated twice.)
Oh, the men they wash the dishes in
Mobile,
Oh the men they wash the dishes,
And they dry them on their britches,
Oh, the dirty sons-of-bitches in
Mobile!
The cows they all are dead in
Mobile,
The cows all are dead,
So they milk the bulls instead,
Because the babies must be fed in
Mobile!
Oh, they teach the babies tricks in
Mobile,
Oh, they teach the babies tricks
And by the time that they are six,
They suck their father's pricks in
Mobile!
Oh, the eagles they fly high in
Mobile,
Oh, the eagles they fly high,
And from way up in the sky,
They shit squarely in your eye, in
Mobile!
42
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBO
In fourteen hundred and ninety two
A dago from
Italy
Walked the streets of sunny
Spain
A-shouting, "Hot
tamalie!"
Columbo went unto the
Queen
And asked for ships and cargo,
He said, "I'm a dirty son-of-a-bitch
If I don't bring back
Chicago."
Columbo paced upon the
deck
He knew it was his duty
He took his whang into his hand
And said, "Ain't she a beauty!"
A little girl walked upon the deck
And peeked in through the keyhole,
He knocked her down upon her brown
And shoved it in her
peehole.
She sprang aloft, her pants fell off,
The villain still pursued her;
The white of an egg ran down her leg,
The son-of-a-bitch had screwed her.
Each sailor on Columbo's
ship
Had each his private knothole,
But Columbo was a superman
And used a padded porthole.
Columbo had a cabin boy,
He loved him like a brother;
And every night they went to bed
And corn-holed one another.
43
For forty days and forty nights,
They sailed the broad
Atlantic,
And as there was no tail in sight
The sailors they got frantic
For forty days and forty nights
They sailed in search of booty;
They spied a whore upon the shore-
My god, she was a beauty!
All the men jumped overboard,
A-shedding coats and collars;
In fifteen minutes by the clock,
She made ten thousand dollars.
Those were the days of no clap cure;
The doctors were not many;
The only doc' that he could find
Was a son-of-a-bitch named Benny.
Columbo strode up to the
doc'
His smile serene and placid;
The God-damned doc' burned off his cock
With hydrochloric acid.
Chorus:
For he knew the world was round - O -
And his balls hung to the ground - O -
That Dago-Bastard - with - the - seven - year - itch,
That syphilitic - son - of - a - bitch
Christopher Columbo!
Another version of the chorus goes:
Oh, he knew the world was round - O -
And a fair land could be found - O -
That masturbating, fornicating, Son - of - a - bitch -
Columbo!
44
THE SPANISH
NOBILLIO
There once was a Spanish Nobillio
Who lived in an ancient castillio;
He was proud of his
tra-la-la-lillio
And the works of his
razzle dum dee!
One day he went to the theatillio,
And there he saw a lovely dancillio
Who excited his tra-la-la-lillio
And the works of his
twidle dum
dee!
, He took her up to his castillio
And laid her upon his sofillio,
And then inserted his tra-la-la-lillio
In the works of her
tweedle dum
dee!
Nine days later he saw the doctillio-
He had a fine dose of clapillio
All over his
tra-la-la-lillio
And the works of his
twidle dum dee!
Now he sits in his lonely castillio,
With a handful of cotton-wadillio,
And he swabs off his tra-la-la-lillio
And the works of his
twidle dum
dee!
45
RING-DANG-DOO
Oh, Ring-dang-doo! Pray
what is that,
As soft and round as a pussy cat,
So warm and round, and split in two?
She said that it was her ring-dang-doo!
She took me down into her cellar,
And told me that I was a damn fine feller,
She gave me wine and whisky too,
And let me play with her ring-dang-doo.
"You God-damned fool," her mother said,
"To let this man lie in your bed,
Now you've gone and lost your maidenhead;
So pack your trunk and suitcase too,
And go to hell with your ring-dang-doo!"
She went down town and bought a store,
And hung this sign right o'er the door:
One dollar down, no less will do
To take a crack at my ring-dang-doo!
They came by twos, they came by fours
Until at last they came by scores,
The boys they came, the boys they went,
The price went down to fifty cents.
Then there came a lad, I know not who,
Who sure played hell with her ring-dang-doo.
And she was glad when they all were through,
For they had ruined her ring-dang-doo.
And now she lies beneath the sod;
Her soul they say is gone to God;
But down in hell when Satan's blue,
He still takes a whirl at her ring-dang-doo.
46
THE BASTARD KING OF
ENGLAND
(By Rudyard Kipling)
Oh, the bards they sing of an English King
Who lived long years ago.
And he ruled his land with an iron hand,
But his mind was weak and low.
He loved to hunt the royal stag
Within his royal wood,
And 'twas none but knew that his greatest sport
Was pulling his royal
pud.
Under his jerkin was a leather shirt
Which used to hide his hide,
But this undershirt couldn't hide the dirt,
That no one could abide.
He was wild and wooly and full of fleas
That humans ne'er could
stand;
And his terrible dong hung down to his knees-
The Bastard King of
England!
Now the Queen of Spain was an amorous dame,
And a sprightly dame was she,
And she longed to fool with his Majesty's tool
So far across the sea.
So she sent a note to the dirty King
By her royal messenger,
And requested his Majesty's sailing to
Spain
To spend a month with her.
But when Phillip of France got the news one day,
He turned to all his court
And he said, "My fair Queen prefers this
clown
Because my tool is short."
So he sent abroad Marquis Siphylissap,
Who smacked of fairyland
To supply the Queen with a dose of clap
To trap our dear old
England.
47
Then the news of this filthy deed was heard
In
Windsor's
merry halls,
And the King did swear he would have anon
The Frenchman's greasy balls.
So he offered the half of all his lands,
And the whole of Queen Hortense,
To the trusty lord of the English court
Who'd nut the King of France.
So the loyal Duke of Essexshire
Betook himself to
France
When he swore he was a fruiter, the King
Took down his royal pants:
Then around his prong he tied a thong,
Got on his horse and galloped along,
Until he brought to
Windsor's
merry halls,
The Frenchman and his dong.
Then the King threw up, and he shit his pants;
For in the lengthy ride
The thong had stretched by a yard or more
The fucking Frenchman's pride.
Then all the ladies of
London
town
Who saw the mighty stand
Cried aloud, "To hell with
the English Crown!"
And made Phillip King of
England.
48
THE
WINNIPEG
WHORE
My first trip to the Canadian border,
My first trip to the Northern shore,
I was introduced to the Widow Flannagan
Commonly known as the Winnipeg
Whore.
"How do you do, and pleased to meet you,
Sit right down upon my knee!
We'll go through the whole darn shenanagan,
A dollar and a half will be my fee."
She was a'dillyin', and
I was a'dallyin',
I didn't know what it was all about,
Till I missed my watch and
wallet.
"Holy Jumpin'
Jesus!" I called out!
Out came the bims, and
out came the bitches,
There must have been a score or more.
You'd have laughed to shit your britches
To see my ass fly out that door!
49
THE GATHERING OF THE
CLANS
There was a gathering of the clans
And all the lads were there
A-feeling of the lassies,
A-stroking of the hair.
The parson's wife was in the parlor
Explaining to the groom
That the vagina not the rectum
Was
the entrance to the womb.
The parson's daughter was in the parlor
A-sitting
up in front
With a ring of roses round her hair '
And
a carrot in her cunt.
Aimee McPherson, she was there
With
her ass against the wall,
Saying, "Come on all you laddies,
I'll take you one and all!"
There was jerking in the parlor
And jerking in the
ricks,
And you could not hear the music
For the swishing of the pricks.
Chorus:
It's hi diddle e asnicht,
Hi diddle oo.
Them as had it last night
Canna have it
noo.
50
THE FOUR MAIDS FROM
CANADA
There were four maids from
Canada
A-sipping cherry wine.
The topic of the conversation was:
Is yours as big as
mine?
"O mine's as big as the ocean,
O mine's as
big as the sea.
A full-rigged ship can sail right up
With
all her tackle free."
"You're a liar," said the second,
"For mine's as big as the air.
The sun and moon can kiss my ass
And never singe a hair."
"You're a liar," said the third,
"For mine's as big as the moon.
A man can go up in the middle of May
And never come down till June."
"You're a liar," said the fourth,
"For mine's the biggest of all.
A man can go up in the middle of May
And never come down at all."
Chorus:
O, tickle my tits, you honey,
O, sniffle the slimy
slew.
O, rattle your nuts against my guts,
I'm one of the whorey
crew!
51
"SHE WAS POOR
BUT SHE WAS HONEST"
She was poor but she was honest
And her parents were the same,
Till the country squire came courting,
And the poor girl lost her name.
She was poor but she was honest,
Victim of that squire's whim.
First he had her, then he left her
Going to have a child by him.
So she went -away to
London
Just to hide her guilty shame
There she met an Army chaplain
Once again she lost her name.
So she settled down in
London
Sinking deeper in her shame;
Till she met a labor leader
And again she lost her name.
See him in the House of Commons
Making laws to put down crime,
While the poor girl that he ruined
Wanders on through mud and
slime.
Then there came a bloated Bishop,
Marriage was the tale he told.
There was no one else to take her
So she sold her soul for gold.
See her in her horse and carriage
Driving daily through the park,
Though she's made a wealthy marriage
Still she hides a broken heart.
In their poor but humble dwelling
Where her grieving parents live,
Drinking champagne that she sends them
But they never can forgive.
It's the same the whole world over,
It's the poor that gets the blame.
While the rich gets all the clover,
Ain't it all a bloody shame.
52
Ode to the Four
Letter Words
Banish the use of the four letter words
Whose meanings are never obscure.
The Anglos and Saxons, those bawdy old birds,
Were vulgar obscene and impure.
But cherish the use of the weak-kneed phrase,
That never quite says what you mean;
You'd better be known for your hypocrite ways
Than as vulgar, impure, or
obscene.
When nature is calling, plain speaking is out.
When ladies, God bless 'em, are milling about,
You
may wee-wee, make water, or empty the glass;
You can powder your nose, even
'Johnnie' may pass,
Shake the dew off the lily, see the man 'bout the dog,
Or
when everyone's soused it's "condensing the fog. "
But be pleased to
remember if you would know bliss
That only in
Shakespeare do characters ----.
When your dinners are hearty with onion and beans,
With garlic and claret and bacon and greens;
Your
bowels get busy distilling a gas,
That Nature insists be permitted to pass.
You
are very polite, and try to exhale,
Without noise or
odor (you frequently fail);
Expecting a zephyr, you usually start,
For even a
deafer would call it a ----.
You may speak of a "movement" or sit on
a seat,
Have a passage, or stool— or simply excrete,
Or say to the others,
"I'm going out back"
And groan in pure joy in that smelly old shack
You can go "lay a cable", or do "number two"
Or sit on the
toidey and make a "do-do",
But ladies and men who
are socially fit
Under no provocation will go take a ----.
53
A woman has bosoms, a bust, or a breast,
Those lily-white swellings that
bulge 'neath her vest.
They are towers of ivory, sheaves of new wheat;
In a moment of passion, ripe
apples to eat.
You may speak of her nipples as small rings of
fire,
With hardly a question of raising her ire,
But by Rabelais' beard will she throw fits
If you speak of them roundly as
good honest ----.
It's a cavern of joy, you are thinking of now,
A warm, tender field just
waiting the plow.
It's a quivering pigeon, caressing your hand,
Or the National Anthem that makes us all stand.
Or perhaps it's a flower, a grotto, a well,
The hope of the World, or a velvety hell,
But friend heed this warning, beware the affront
Of aping a Saxon don't call it a ----.
Tho' a lady repel your
advance, she'll be kind
Just as long as you - intimate
- what's on your mind.
You may tell her you're hungry, you need to be
swung,
You may ask her to see how your etchings are hung.
You may mention the ashes that need to be hauled;
Put the lid on her sauce-pan -- lay's not too
bold;
But the moment you're forthright, get ready to
duck
The girl isn't born yet who'll stand for
"Lets ----."
So banish the words that
Elizabeth
used,
When she was a Queen on her throne.
The modern
maid's virtue is easily bruised
By the four letter
words when used all alone.
Let your morals be loose as an alderman's vest
As
long as the language you use is obscure
Today not the ACT, but the WORD is the
test
Of the vulgar, the obscene, the impure.(l)
54
THE RAVEN MANIAC
Once upon a midnight dreary,
When of smoking I was
weary,
And had drank my pint of whiskey,
And was wishing there was more;
Suddenly there came a tapping,
Sounded like a female rapping,
Rapping like the
very devil,
Just outside my chamber door.
'Tis some
chippy that's a' wishing
To my
room to gain admission,
Well, I'll rise and let her enter,
Even though she be a
whore,
Let her enter, nothing more.
So I opened wide the portal,
And there stood such a mortal,
That in all my wildest fancies,
I had never seen before;
She had lost her upper garments,
And of all seductive varmints,
She surely was the warmest baby,
That mortal woman ever bore;
And each palpitating bubbie,
Was so smooth, so round and chubbie,
That my spirits rose within me,
As I closed my chamber door,
Just my spirits, nothing more.
Oh! distinctly I
remember,
'Twas the thirteenth of
November,
'Twas the fourteenth
when she left me,
When our little dream was o'er;
But more clearly I remember,
The nineteenth of November,
Six days later, and she said
The blood was just her Hymen's gore,
Only blood, and nothing
more.
55
All that's left of what passed between us,
Is one poor infected penis
Drooping, sad and penitent,
And very VERY sore;
And that penis-never skipping
Still is dripping -STILL IS DRIPPING,
Morning, afternoon, and evening,
Dripping on the bathroom floor,
And I utter vows forgotten,
Every time I change the cotton,
No more rapping, no more tapping
Not for Uncle, NEVERMORE.
DER NITE B-4 XMAS
Der next nite vas Christmas, der nite it vas shtill.
Der stockings ve hung by
der chimney to fill.
Nodding vas shtirring at all in
der
house,
For fear dat St. Nicholas
vas nix kum heraus.
Der children var tired und
gone to der bed,
Und mudder in her nightgown, and I on
ahead
Vas searching around in der
kloset
for toys.
Ve crept around kviet not
to raise any noise.
Now mudder vas carrying all de toys in her gown,
Showing her person from der
vaist
on down.
Ven ve come near
der crib of our poy,
Our youngest und
sveetest,
our pride und our choy.
He opened his eyes vide as he peeked from his cot,
Und den he seen everyting his
mudder
has got.
But he didn't even notice der toys in her lap,
He chust asked, "Fer
who is that little fur cap?"
Und mudder, she said, "Hush," und she laugh
mid delight,
"I tink I give dot to your
fadder
tonight!"
56
THE NIGHT OF THE KING'S CASTRATION
T'was the night of the
King's castration,
And all the counts and no accounts
were there,
When the ladies went a-rear for libation
And there tossed they huge
gobs of manure.
Then there came to the court one hight Daniel
"You're a son-of-a-bitch," said the
King,
"You're a son-of-a-bitch," said Daniel-
Calling Kings sons of
sluts was common then.
But the King was mightily wroth,
And flung his snot into his soup.
Then ordering his minions
brought,
He had Daniel cast unto the lions.
Any man would have died of fright,
But not Daniel, who strode forth boldly
Grabbed a lion's left nut very tight
And mightily squeezed for all he was worth.
Then the lion cried, "Ouch it tickles."
"May I ask you what tickles?" said Daniel,
And the lion said,
"Testicles, my dear boy!"
And laughed until he was
dead.
On the next day the court assembled
In the great amphitheater,
And the King and court had
gambled
Many rupees of the realm.
Then the King missed his fair Queen,
And he called for the Lord Chancellor.
"Pray where is
the Queen, thou old bean?
She should have been at our party today."
Then the Lord High Chancellor responded,
"She beshitteth herself in the crapper."
"Is
there plenty of bungwad suspended
On
the royal nail for her ass?"
57
"She hath four and twenty ream
Of the finest tissue made."
"Tis well, Sir, let
none e'er dream
That Royal ass ever touched a corncob."
And the king went to the locker
Where
his private crapper stood,
And he shit three pounds of butter-
And earned the
name of King Dairyass.
At the end of his mighty crapping
On the way to his dignified court,
He looked down where the lions were scrapping
And espied our Daniel alive.
"How's tricks in the hole?" said the
King.
"What hole," says Daniel.
"Asshole," says the King.
"Suck it," says Daniel.
And the judge
Declared that the drinks were on the King.
Once more the King asked for the Queen
And a smart young prick spoke up,
"She lies with the
jester, Sire," he said,
"And the biggest liar's a slut!"
The Queen came sweeping down the hall-
"Greetings, Lord of the Sod," she said.
"What sod do you
mean?" cried the King.
"Lord of the Sodomy." she said.
"And as for you," she added then,
"You're not so much to me you see,
For I could be king if I had to,"-
"Two what?" he cried!
And the Queen
responded, "Balls!"
So then they had a foreskin race,
Where length and trigger-speed both counted.
"Daniel,
come forth!" said the King with his face-
And Daniel came fifth and lost
the race!
58
KING DARIUS
When we arrived, King Darius was up bright and
early,
For it was the day of the Royal Castration
Of the Imperial Bull, whose nuts were to be
amputated
By the Most Royal Emasculator.
After this impressive ceremony was over,
The King exclaimed, "They are off!"
And wandered forth into the coutyard,
and watched
His royal courtiers playfully throwing camel shit
In each other's faces, which was
rare sport in those days,
And hard to get.
The next thing of importance was when Daniel
appeared
Upon the scene. "What Ho," cried
the King.
"Ass Hole!" replied Daniel.
"Kiss it!" said the King,
Thereby making a hit.
"After
you, you son of a bitch!"
Screamed Daniel, scoring
a point for the common people.
Whereupon the King waxed exceedingly
wroth,
And ordered Daniel to be thrown into the lion's
den,
For it was no mean thing to call a King a son-of-a-bitch
In those days.
We now have Daniel in the Lion's den, the lions in
the background.
Daniel can be distinguished by the large green
umbrella
In his left hand, and the bible under his
arm.
Daniel then began to read the bible aloud,
And
the lions, after looking over his lean carcass
And deciding that he would be
damn poor picking at the best,
And hardly worth the effort should they go
To the trouble to kill him, all roll over and go to sleep.
Whereupon the King having observed this,
Appeared before Daniel and said, "Daniel,
Why hast thou angered me that I should throw
thee
In this hole?"
"What hole?" said Daniel.
"Ass Hole!" cried the King, and the
drinks were on Daniel.
59
"Balls!" said the King.
And the King laughed because he had to,
The Queen laughed because she wanted to,
The Princess laughed because she'd like to,
And the courtiers because it was
damn good policy.
All of the ladies of the court took out their tits
And tittered as was the custom in those days,
Whereupon the King waxed exceedingly merry
And called upon Daniel to come forth
But Daniel in his hasty exit slipped upon a
turd,
Fell into a tub of lion shit, and thereby came in
sixth.
"Shit!" cried the King and forty
thousand subjects
Squatted and strained to the utmost, for in those days
The
King's word was Law.
"While I have been confined,
What
has become of the Princess?" asked Daniel.
"Fuck the Princess!"
cried the King, and Daniel
And forty others were
killed in the mad rush.
DARBY TOWN
There was an old goat in Darby Town,
He had two horns of brass.
One stuck out of his shoulder blade,
And the other stuck out of his
Rinkle, dinkle, Darby Town,
O maybe you think I lie;
But ask the
girls in Darby Town,
They'll tell you the same as I.
There was a man in Darby Town
His hair was awfully
thick.
And it took the girls a week to find
The nob on the end of his
Rinkle. dinkle,
Darby Town,
O maybe you think I lie;
But ask the girls of Darby Town
They'll
tell you the same as I.
60
THE SWIMMERS
There was an old man at
Brighton
last year
Whose hobby was swimming 'round government pier.
He dove, and he swam clear out to the Rock
And amused all the ladies by shaking his ....
Fist at the copper who
stood on the shore,
The very same copper who had
caught him before.
They chased him in boats, but never could pass,
For the dirty old scoundrel would show them
his ....
Wonderful manner of swimming so fine,
His wonderful muscles, before
and behind.
This man had a sister at
Brighton
last year,
Whose hobby was swimming 'round the very same
pier.
She dove like a frog, and swam like a duck,
And showed by her motions she knew how to ....
Frolic in water clear up to her chin
And still not get drowned as many have been.
Her suit of blue serge was the swellest
of fits,
And showed to advantage the swell of her ....
Tidy contour from her head to
her feet.
'Twas
just the right thing and exceedingly neat.
When tired of swimming, for shells she would hunt,
And go through the motions of washing her ....
Clothes in the ocean so deep and so blue,
Thinking thereby she would make them seem new.
When finished with swimming, for shore she would
start
And enjoy the strange pleasure of letting a ....
Fresh swell roll over her dainty pink toes,
And wash out the sand from her nobody knows.
61
THERE WAS AN OLD MAN
There was an old man sitting on the rocks,
Watching little boys playing with their
Agates and marbles in Springtime
of yore;
While over in the bushes they watched a fat
Brunette young lady sitting in the grass;
When she rolled over you could see her shapely
Shoes and stockings that fit like a duck;
She said she was learning a new way to
Bring up her children and teach them to knit;
As over in the bushes they were taking a
Little companion down to the docks;
There they said they would show him the length of
their
(You may think this is all bull-shit,
But it isn't, by God!)
62
THE
HAMBURG
SHOW
And in the next cage, we have the South American
Llama who roams the wild mountain ranges Of the Andes, leaping from precipice
To precipice and back to piss again.
And in the next cage we have the Javanese Baboon
Who is so fat that every time he winks his eye He skins his prick. The ladies
delight in throwing Sand in his eyes to watch him masturbate.
And in the next cage we have the Australian
Ostrich Who when frightened, sticks his head Deep down into the desert sands,
and farts- Hence the antipodal trade winds.
And in the next cage we have the spotted leopard
Who has a spot for each day of the year.
You ask, lady, what he does in leap year?
Under his tail, madam, you will find the extra
spot.
And in the next cage, we have the hippopotamus
Who has a square asshole and eats mud.
Every time he shits,
he shits bricks,
Hence the pyramids and
Stanford
University.
And in the next cage we have the elephant
Who strangly enough, holds
intercourse
But once each hundred years; but when he do He DO!
And how he does
enjoy it!
And in the next cage we have the rhinoceros
The wealthiest animal alive.
His name comes from Rhino
meaning money, and sore ass meaning piles-
Hence piles of money. See his ass in
the bank!
Chorus:
For we're going to the animal show,
See the monkeys and the wild kangaroo,
And we'll all stick together in all kinds of
weather
For we're going to see the whole show through!
63
C-U-N-T
The portions of a woman which appeal to a man's
depravity
Are constructed with considerable care,
And
what appears to you and me to be a simple cavity
Is really an elaborate affair.
Now doctors of distinction have examined these
phenomena
In a number of experimental dames
And listed
all the little things in feminine abdomina
And given
them delightful Latin names.
There's the vulva, the vagina, and the jolly
perineum,
And the hymen which is sometimes found in
brides.
And a lot of other gadgets which you'd love if you could see 'em,
The clitoris and other things besides.
What a pity then it is, when we common people
chatter
Of the mysteries to which we have referred,
That we use for such a
delicate and complicated matter
Such a very short and unattractive word.
64
POOR OLD DICK
At the close of our existence, when we've climbed
life's golden stairs,
And the
chilly winds of autumn rudely toss our silvery hairs;
When we feel our
manhood slipping, and we're up to life's last ditch,
And we find
our faithful Peter sleeping soundly at the switch;
God Almightly ain't it awful! Don't it make you deathly sick
When the painful fact confronts you that you've
got a life- less dick?
Ain't it sad for us to
know when we take him on the streets
That ne'er again
will he wrestle with the pussies that he meets ?
That he ne'er again will bristle on a wet and
windy day,
When some maiden shows her stocking in that
naughty funny way?
O my poor old loyal kingpin, how my heart goes out
to you,
For I cannot but remember all the stunts you
used to do.
How I charmed the maids and maidens and the
dashing widows too,
How you had
the whole crowd waiting for just a little piece of you.
Don't you think
that I've forgotten when each dear girl you tried.
I could never make you quit her 'till she cried,
"I'm satisfied!"
Think
you then that I'll forget you just because you're so dead,
And because when I
command you, you cannot raise your head?
No indeed, my
valiant comrade, naught shall rob you of your fame!
Henceforth
you'll be my pisser, and I'll love you just the same!
65
FANNY'S POEM
I think that I shall ne'er adore
A virgin lovely as a whore.
A whore who takes my prick in tow,
And wafts it gently to and fro.
A whore whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against my titillating breast.
A whore who does not dally 'round;
But leads me straight to joys profound.
She twists and turns my peckerhead-
She makes me glad that I'm not dead!
Why marry and tie up for life?
Sixpence a night buys me a wife.
She knows her craft, this smutty bitch;
Knows how to make my stabber
itch.
She'll suck me off, devour my prick,
Gulp down my sperm, however thick.
She'd drink my piss. She'd eat my shit.
She only asks I do my bit.
Her cunt is trained in
all the arts.
I lick her ass - inhale her farts.
And what a treat! What rare delight!
To chew her snatch from morn
till night.
No robbin's nest within
her hair;
That is the carious vulture's lair.
She looks at pricks and balls all day-
This whore who asks such little
pay.
Upon her torrid bosom, snow
Would melt - and in her asshole flow.
Virgins are fucked by fools galore.
It takes a MAN to fuck a whore!
66
THE YOUNG STENOGRAPHER
I am a young stenographer, my age just past
eighteen.
Come listen while I tell you of some things I've done and seen.
My mother kept me close at home, and never let me
out;
Nor spoke one word of men or love or what it's
all about.
I really thought I'd like to work for some young
man of means;
So I started my adventures like an actress on the
screens.
My first job was in
Harlem, it really was a
cinch,
I liked my boss extremely well till he gave my ass a pinch.
I then worked for a teacher where maps hung on the
walls,
But I got mad and left him when he made me feel
his balls.
I then worked for a jeweler way down in
Maiden
Lane,
He squeezed my tits so awfully hard they fairly ached with pain.
Some men were awfully rude to me, they'd stop me
on the street,
And ask me if I had a place where they and I could
meet.
A lawyer next employed me, he hadn't much to do;
He spent his time
flirting, and asked me for a screw.
My fifth boss was a florist who dealt in seeds and
plants;
I left him when he tried to get his hands inside my pants.
The next one
talked so sweetly and constantly would beg
To let him
slip his pecker up and down my leg.
At times I felt disgusted and thought I'd homeward
go;
But still I hoped to find a boss who took things
kind of slow.
I next took a position down on a steam-ship dock,
But left the second day because the boss showed me his cock.
An artist stopped me in the street and asked if I
would pose.
He said my form enthralled him,
I was fairer than a rose.
I asked him what I had to do, then told
him I would try:
But warned him if he once got fresh I'd leave him on the fly.
67
I went to work next morning (it was posing in the
nude),
I'd hardly got my clothes off when he started to get rude.
Forgotten was
the picture he had much desired to paint,
Out came his big stiff pecker, I
thought that I would faint.
He tried to take me on his lap, and make me feel
his tool;
I gave his face an awful slap and said he was a fool.
I really cannot
understand why all men act so queer,
Because no matter
where I go they flirt and call me 'dear'.
I next worked for a preacher, a horny little runt,
But left because he begged me to let him lick my cunt.
I then at last decided to take things as they came,
And if I lost another job, I'd have myself to blame.
I got a situation as a confidential clerk,
And hardly had my hat off, when the boss began to work.
He
talked so kind and loving, persistently did beg,
Until
at last I let him put his hand upon my leg.
I let him frig me for a while, he stood upon a
chair;
Pulled up my skirt, took down my pants till ass and thigh were bare.
He looked me over lovingly, inspecting every inch;
Then he pulled the hair around my cunt
till he almost made me flinch
I will admit I didn't mind his playing with my
hair,
But all at once he touched my spot and set me off for fair.
He didn't
wait a minute, out came his prick all stiff,
He said, "Now dearie, let me put this in your quiff."
He made me hold his pecker and stroke his hairy
bag,
Then he laid me on the sofa and stripped off
every rag.
He made me take off every stitch of clothes that I had on,
Until I was as naked as the day I was born.
He kissed my lips and bubbies;
his prick grew stiffer yet,
He fingered all around my cunt
till it was hot and wet.
And then he got on top of me, with his legs he held me still,
His prick pressed
against my belly till my cunt began to thrill.
68
When he had me all excited, and my pussy good and
hot,
He released his hold upon me though his prick still touched my spot.
He gently spread my legs apart, my tits he wildly
sucked,
Then shoved his cock into my cunt, and I was
being fucked.
Our motions soon grew faster,
at first they were quite slow.
Then suddenly he clutched my ass, and we both
began to flow.
I thought I was in
Paradise,
it felt supremely grand,
I made him fuck me for an
hour till his prick refused to stand.
Then we stopped our action, all out of breath were
we,
I rolled him over to one side, his wilted prick to see.
He lay there
getting rested, while I could hardly wait,
I told him he must fuck some more,
it felt so simply great.
His pecker had grown limber, he could not make it
stand,
So I sat him down beside me, and
took it in my hand.
Its skin was soft and velvet, its touch thrilled me with bliss;
I thought it was
so lovely that I gave it a little kiss.
He said the kisses tickled, I gave it three or
four,
And then he shoved it in my mouth about an inch
or more.
I snuggled down beside him, my thing was by his face,
Soon he was planting kisses upon my loving place.
The more I sucked his pecker, the more he tongued
my quiff,
He made my thing go off the while I made his thing grow stiff.
Then I could wait no longer, my cunt began to run,
I must have it in me, and take another
one.
So I sat astride him and placed his thing in mine,
And rocked my body back and
forth. The feeling was sublime.
I liked this even better than when he lay on me,
For I could nearly move my ass from his belly to his knee.
69
At last he got me coming, while faster grew our
play,
And when at last we both went off, I fainted
dead away.
Each day I got my screwing from morning until night,
Till I wore the boss completely out, and we nearly had a
fight.
He said, "Dear little girlie, you surely like
to screw,
But it will simply ruin me, keeping up with you.
You'd better find yourself another job, and I hope
you'll find a boss
Who can keep
it up forever, tho' I'll surely mourn my loss,"
I surely had the best of him, but the fault was
not all mine.
For he himself had taught me all I knew
in the fucking line.
I couldn't help but pity him, tho'
it made me awful blue,
But I simply couldn't help it,
I just had to screw and screw.
But then with what I'd learned from him I had no
fear at all
But started out to
find another job where another man would fall.
The next man to employ me was a lawyer and to
view,
A very handsome fellow, his age just twenty-two.
I thought he was ideal, and would ask me for a
screw,
But he never even hinted, I knew not what to do.
He didn't seem to know
he had a pecker in his pants,
He was so bashful,
though I gave him every chance.
I bid him fix my garter, and tie my little shoe;
What ever might encourage him I did my best to do.
At last in desperation I
leaned above his desk
And let, as tho'
by accident, a tit slip from my dress.
I didn't seem to notice there was anything amiss,
And as he found it by his lips, he gave the tit a kiss.
I
put an arm around his neck, and said, "You darling boy!"
Then I saw
his prick rise in his pants which filled my heart with joy.
He was so very bashful I had to help along,
And so I opened up his pants and took out his joy
prong.
70
I looked, and when I saw it, it was so big and
stiff,
That I lay down and begged him to stick it in
my quiff.
He quickly jumped upon me, I, eager grabbed ahold,
And he pushed it up
into me till I felt my cunt unfold.
The motion of my ass began, he answered with the
same.
It wasn't long before our parts were hotter than a flame.
I liked him
even better than the boss I'd had before;
His cock was long and stiff enough to
appease most any whore.
At last I got him coming,
we shoved in perfect time,
I felt that nice sensation run up and down my
spine.
I never had a better fuck than that I got from
him,
It made me jerk my hands and feet like when I take
a swim.
It made my bubbies
quiver, my tits he wildly sucked,
My belly heaved like an ocean swell so grandly was
I fucked.
I didn't want him to get off, with my legs I held
him tight,
I threw my legs around him till he couldn't even bite.
He didn't
seem to mind it, but shoved up closer still,
And every
time I shook my ass, he responded with a will.
I'd work it a few minutes, then
hold still a bit,
Until his prick grew limber, then shove some more on it.
He thought I was an angel, I thrilled him so with
bliss,
He begged that I would marry him and always
fuck like this.
I really could not turn him down, I liked his
pecker hot.
So we beat it to a parson, and were married on the spot.
We couldn't get home quick enough.
When we did we
went to bed,
I took off every
stitch of clothes and said,
"Now come ahead."
He threw himself upon me, his prick was hard and
stiff,
And all night long he jerked it within my
ardent quiff.
My married life is happy, I always stay in bed,
And when my husband joins me, I let him go right ahead.
I'm
holding down that same bed yet. I surely am in luck;
I have no worries, no
regrets, for all I do is fuck.
71
THE STREET CLEANER'S DREAM
Yez can see me wid my little cart upon the street each day,
A-cleanin' after
harses,
that's how I earn me pay.
I likes to sweep and clean and dodge about among the
teams,
But when I gets to bed at night, I have such arfvil
dreams.
I see harse-shit on the
ceilin', and harse-shit on the
floor,
Harse-shit on the table, and harse-shit
on the door,
Harse-shit in the sugar bowl, and
harse-shit
on the chair,
Harse-shit in me whiskers and
harse-shit
everywhere.
The best friends o' the cleaners is the little
English sparrer,
Sure an they eat more shit each day than would go into a
barrer;
But yet in spite of all they eat and I cleans up with me broom,
In me dreams there's loads of
harse-shit pilin' high in me room.
There's harse-shit in
the water pail and likewise in the sink,
Shit in everything I eat and likewise in me drink,
Harse-shit on the pilly-shams,
and harse-shit in the bed
An' sure sometimes I think, be-gob, there's
harse-shit in me head.
Me wife says its the Nightmare that makes me act
so bad,
When I tears up all the bed-clothes an' screams an' acts like mad.
An' sure, this mornin', 'bout
half past two, I nearly lost me head,
I dreamed the Nightmare had been there and shit all round the bed.
I saw harse-shit on the
door-mat and harse-shit in the hall,
Harse-shit in the kitchen stove, and
harse-shit on the wall,
Harse-shit in me
punkin'
pie, and on the windy-pane,
An' now the doctor tells me wife I've
harse-shit on
the brain.
72
An' now they're buildin'
gas machines that never shit be-gob,
An' soon the harses will be
gone an' then I'll loose me job;
But all things happen for the best, perhaps 'twill save me life,
For now I'm crazed wid harse-shit
an' its nearly killed me wife.
There's harse-shit in me
pockets an' harse-shit in me sox,
I tried to screw me wife an' I found
harse-shit in
her box,
Me tool, the handle of a broom, but man I had a fit,
When I found that my two bollocks were but gobs of
harses'
shit!
PAUL REVERE
Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the
midnight
ride of Paul Revere;
This Paul was a mighty man and strong,
With a pecker fourteen inches long.
Why, the damn thing hung down to his sock,
Like the pendulum of an eight day clock.
It was wrinkled and worn, but it stood the gaff,
It had damn near split one dame in half.
Came a night when Paul, in his cups with gin,
Found his joy-prong throbbing beneath his chin.
"What
t' hell!" he cried, as he forced it down,
"Now this means a
midnight ride to town."
So he cranked his
Ford, while the pale moon grinned,
Lept to the wheel,
and away he spinned.
While his lob-stick throbbed for
a mouse's ear,
And stood so high he couldn't see to
steer.
He hit the hills and dales on high
With his mind fast set on a dead pig's eye.
Till, with
grinding brakes he at last hit town
And raced
hell-bent for Amelia Brown.
73
Now Amelia cradled the local cock
In a crotch that was like a butcher's block;
But she knew damn well when she lamped our Paul
That big as she was she would need it all.
With a pig-like squeal and a thankful moan,
Revere
peeled down and shoved Steve home;
While Amelia groaned like a bashful bride,
And prayed he'd leave his balls outside.
Well the bout
progressed until early morn,
When Amelia swore that her twat was torn,
So Paul
got off, just a bit uncertain,
And swabbed Steve down w |
