She was as homely as CAROLINE KENNEDY
She could do as many as eight men a day
Her ****** was a purse snapped shut
Her mother was Rosemary, Boston's municipal ****
She plied her trade beneath the bridge
     sundown till Sunday she sold her ***
          in reverence to the Latin sermons of morning Mass
She was as emaciated as Maria F. Shriver
A free-clinic patient & ****-diver
Brittle bones in shoe leather
Open all night regardless of weather
These Johnny tricks never fail
  to rack her up substantial bail
Into the night life she's Bob Dylan
All lit up on penicillin
A poke and a slap
Hardly counts from Milton F. Shapp
Into the sap as we live & breathe
About the alleys and across the streets
A **** in drag, a ***** in sheets
She's Barbara F. Walters waiting for bait
   being threaded by ******* as that's her fate
What has she done with the pigs she's shown,
   but something, something involving bone?
Into the winter with her *** withstanding
    post-autumnal blows from truck-drivers
     till Christmas rears its ugly head on the twenty-fifth
Let's all love each other and not be vulgarians
And dress in bikinis our trim septuagenarians
When Judgment comes, as God wills it should
  we don't wanna be in the park trimming wood