(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 :)