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The Obligatory Limericks Game Reincarnated
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And so it begins....
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Or fervid confession
They should sing it with flat minor thirds. Bluesy . . . .
Using mice and a furlong of string
I fashioned some low-budget bling
That I'd tie to my cat
In the way of a hat
Which made it quite easy to fling
Spare a thought for the down-trodden vole
Who is often confused with the mole
But the piles that they leave
If you look, won't deceive
'Cos it all comes out of a hole.
Tonight I will go to the pub
For the craic, a pint, and some grub
Perhaps a quick song
Then, if nothing goes wrong
I'll be throwing some shapes at a club
And if I'm in luck, then I'll pull
A fancy trick on a bull
It won't buck me off
If I don't start to cough
And my evening would then count as full.
When I do take the bull by the horns
The damn thing stands on my corns
But after some bellows
My misery mellows
'til I take 'nother Gin spiked with thorns...
My carpenter hammered and screwed
He was quite the industrious dude
He made me a closet
In which I deposit
Young Marc when he tries to be lewd :)
My mother is ninety today
So I'll sing her a song, if I may
"Knees up Mother Brown"
And she'll then go to town
For her regular 'roll in the hay'...
On the telly I saw Doctor Phil
Who said I should take this blue pill
But I took the red
My love life is dead
And the willy now lacks all its will
The firm Williams, Johnson & Dick This crowd is a v bad influence
Has taken a great deal of stick
But these upstanding men
Will, no doubt, come again
And give all your egos a prick. MOVING ON
A day in the country is nice
A breath of fresh air for my lice
And my worms like the view
As I visit the loo
And dispose of my dodgy fried rice.
I'm learning to trust my optician
But I still have a nagging suspicion
He's paid just to flatter
Which shouldn't much matter
As I already have perfect vision
With one of my ears on the floor
And the other one nailed to the door
I'm over-extended
Much more than intended
But my ears do not ring anymore
I think that my tongue's swelling up!
I find my pint I cannot sup
But if I had a straw
Or two, three, or more
I'd sip from this large china cup
One day we will run out of air
You'll inhale--and it just won't be there
And no-one will hear
Your screaming with fear
And there will be noone to care
I hope when I breathe my last breath
Of the fumes from that sweet crystal meth
That I'll be in the arms
Of the great Chelsea Charms
And that she is not clearly brain death.
I hope when I drop from this coil This theme is a bit deadly, isn't it?
And I'm under six feet of soil
That someone will say
"He was great in his day"
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