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