O, to be in dear Petronella Now that Spring is here! But alas, poor lass, she is no more, Bereft of life, dead and gone, Breathing through the grass, O woe, O woe are we, The fat ****'s snuffed it.
No more will I and my friends Ardent admirers all (by the rancid cartload), Feel her horrid toothless gums Slurp their lascivious path of glory Across our bloated obesities, ******* and slobbering, Muttering sweetest nothings Through mangled, matted pubics.
No more shall we feel her body Groaning under every butch ******, Uttering imprecations of desire. However one consolation is ours: We who remain behind on earth Can have undisputed use of the giant ******* And will no longer need to cleanse it Following Petronella's awful misuse thereof.
These horrid thoughts came to me As in a terrible, foetid nightmare; And I dreamed I saw Petronella's grave Bedecked with flowers and phlegm; And the holy angels sang overhead, "It's an ill wind that blows Out of the back passage Once it's been ****** good and hard".