(Warning: This poem has been de-activated on another site. You must be 18 yrs. old to read this; although we were only 15 then)
Way back then,
When we were
Post-pubescent
Boys,
We sat in a circle,
Not a **** ring,
And rhymed our things
Like this:
You make my **** rock;
You make my thing sing;
You make my **** stink;
You make my log throb;
You make my stick thick;
You make my chub rub;
You make my ******* long;
You make my stump jump;
You make my pole roll;
You make my wiener leaner;
You make my bone moan;
You make my man stand;
You make my limp primp;
You make my rod applaud;
You make my spear smear;
You make my peter sweeter;
You make my one eye cry.
And all in unison:
You make my *******.*
We'd continue with our lines,
Til the case was as empty
As our rhymes.
Them there days of simple joys,
Post pubescent
Boys with toys.
Send me a few and I'll add them. Could be a rap song by the time we're finished... and more meaningful. :o :)