There's passion on your flabby backside like beans burnt in corn oil
******* on the flip side of your thorax like ****** with a horn coil
whose whorish sympathies stand sympathetically U.H.F.-**** loyal
under 9 uncut lines of serrated sheets wrapped in ultra-thin torn foil
that begets London turds with high-brow claims of being born royal
Saxon, impaled not in vampyrical Vlad's Transylvanian-forlorn soil
that has the gas to make Star Trek vaginal sluice Michael Dorn boil