I know of an alehouse on Skye
Whose toilets stink worse than a sty;
Where drunken old fools
With purple-veined tools
In pools of warm piddle-froth lie.
There was once a barmaid called Sue
Who went in to clean up the loo
The stench was so great
She met a dire fate
When she fainted and drowned in stale poo.
Old Sally had six pints of cider,
When she turned to the man slumped beside her
Who'd groped with his hand;
So she belched twice and
Pumped out the puke from inside her.
I ordered some cheese and a port
To try and banish the thought
Of people's reactions
To Sally's contractions;
Most betting was that she'd abort.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
I know of an alehouse on Skye
Whose toilets stink worse than a sty;
Where drunken old fools
With purple-veined tools
In pools of warm piddle-froth lie.
There was once a barmaid called Sue
Who went in to clean up the loo
The stench was so great
She met a dire fate
When she fainted and drowned in stale poo.
Old Sally had six pints of cider,
When she turned to the man slumped beside her
Who'd groped with his hand;
So she belched twice and
Pumped out the puke from inside her.
I ordered some cheese and a port
To try and banish the thought
Of people's reactions
To Sally's contractions;
Most betting was that she'd abort.
