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The Obligatory Limericks Game Reincarnated
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And so it begins....
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A parcel, marked "Use at own risk"
Contained a fork and a whisk
So into the bin
Went my old theremin
Along with its old floppy disc.
Now look what's arrived in the mail
An ad for Kentucky Fried Snail
Their delicious fast food
Considered quite crude
Except by those who quaff ale.
I'm guessing Kentucky Fried Snail is slow food . . .
Christmas is coming, deep joy
Let's piss from The Old Man of Hoy
In the teeth of a gale
Drink buckets of ale
Just like they do down in Fowey.
Has Christmas gone yet, oh God please?
It has left me right down on my knees
Let's finish the wine
And take down the pine
Then sail once again the seven seas.... See you next year...
Are you sure that you know how it works?
It seems to be moving in jerks
It jumps and it sputters
Built by complete nutters
But watch how its huge big end twerks!
If you have a case of the trots
A Samsonite case will hold lots
Or a big plastic bag
But it sounds like a drag
(This verse has been written by bots)
It's better as ink when it's runny
But my goodness! It smells rather funny
I detect faecal notes
And the entrails of goats
I'll flush it all down the dunny invoking Oz slang
Now hearken ye all, MC types,
Ye must cease to use Pampers wet wipes
They clog up the drains
As they clean up your stains [oblig.}
And no-one likes unblocking pipes.
The sewers, in heat of the summer,
Smell like John Selwyn Gummer
As autumn begins
It's the Eagle twins
All in all, a bit of a bummer
I've sawn a bit off of a Beemer
It now can't keep up with a steamer
If I stick it back on
Is the guarantee gone?
Yep, it won't be a redeemer
My Mercedes-Benz went into flames
And came out to roaring acclaims
With scarcely a scorch
Of its paint to debauch
Those Teutonically engineered frames.
I tried putting wheels on my yacht
And this is as far as I've got:
Just two to the port
From a pram? The same sort
High-tech this solution is NOT.
The V8 that powers the pram
Runs on butane, palm oil and jam
The noise that it makes
ENSURES BABY WAKES
Hidden textFOR PITY'S SAKE EITHER TURN IT OFF OR FIT A SILENCER! MY EARS ARE BLEEDING!
And sounds like a dithyramb.
My restored '69 Thunderbird
Drinks gas at a rate quite absurd
It acceleration
Provokes deglaciation
– I'd not even known that was a word
The good folk of Walton-on-Thames
Are addicted to brûléeing crèmes
And once it's been brûled
This middle-class food
Requires many trips to the gyms.
Bzzt-twang! Rhyme only works in South Africa.
The gits of Newcastle-on-Tyne
Go on benders with Carlsberg and wine
They stop all their diets
Cause mayhem and riots
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