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The Obligatory Limericks Game Reincarnated
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And so it begins....
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I decided to take off my socks
They smelled like old cheese
Which caused me to wheeze
And cough up a collection of rocks.
Last night while I lay in my bed
I pondered the book I'd just read
The hero, I'm sure,
Was no epicure
Subsisting on baked beans and bread.
My first is in bed and asleep Limeriddles, or something. Or not.
My second is still counting sheep
My third's a surprise
And my fourth does arise
And of the fifth, you won't hear a peep I think we were all stumped on that one. Moving along now...
While I was putting the lights on my tree Xmas theme.
I felt a sharp pain in my knee
Oh, my patella
Get me codeine, young fella
And watch my low limb swinging free (below the knee that is...)
The fluff of my navel is gone
Thanks to this invent-ion
It sucks up the lint
Leaves the fragrance of mint
A cosmetic sine qua non.
When you've got to the top of your game
You should quit well before you're thought lame
For an ageing has-been
Should never be seen
As a resplendent pantomine dame
At Christmas we eat and we drink
But sometimes I have a deep think
My kids then say "Dad,
How much gin have you had?"
Was it Gordon's? Or p'raps was it pink?"
It's almost two-thousand-and-nine
The year of both roses and wine (hopefully)
And juxtaposition
Though price of admission,
Is more than its worth every time
There was a young lad from Bordeaux
Who crossed a Cabernet grape with a Gordo
The juice, when fermented, [irach] I'm reporting you to the Scansion Commission
Made drinkers demented
And girls, though quite chaste, set aglow
A scansion policeman named Bob
Was really quite keen on his job
To such an extent
('bout 200 percent)
That a few syllables he would rob
Please don't put your trash in the bin
To throw anything out is a sin
So recycle all waste
All in good taste
And swallow this Scotch mixed with Gin
The problem with being middle-class
Is that it can be a pain in the arse
The upper crust, though
Are smug 'cause they know
That where there is muck, there is brass
But if you're as common as muck
No silver spoon - no such luck
Get your ar*e on TV
As a Cel-e-brit-ee
And try not to use the word that is now in widespread use in the media, something I thoroughly disapprove of despite my frequent use of it in private conversation.
Big Brother's a load of cheap tat Is this what you mean, Rosie?
The F-Word's no better than that Is Gordon Ramsay the chief culprit, Rosie?
But fortunate-lee (Softers, Kim) Yeah, that sort of thing.
I don't watch TV
And that's why I am such a brat ...
When lines do not follow the rule
Some bullys cry out "What a fool!"
"And as for your plurals" ....next line difficult....
"Worse than epidurals"
But being a rebel is cool
If you chant 'Rule Britannia' out loud
Stiff upper lips will stand proud
But! Say 'God Save the Queen',
And you'll cause a scene
– You'll have to leave under a cloud
There's no roy-al-tee for us Yanks
We make do with missiles and tanks
We drive pickup trucks
That we buy using bucks
And we spend all your oil saying: Thanks !
In Texas they say "Howdee y'all"
In Yorkshire "Ay-up"'s what they call
But in SW3
They say naught - you trust me
They write Limerick lines - what a ball!
There was a young fellow from Penge
Who decided to take his revenge
On his great-aunt from Poole
With a long-handled tool
he twisted her nose with a wrench
The bishops of Penge and of Poole
Were fond of the odd game of boules
But their cup ranneth over
When a straw-chewing drover
Showed them his family jewel ...hat and coat, please...
Dear Fraulein my Glüwein is cold
Bitte, will you mein Glüwein please hold
While I trinketh my beer
Please nibble my ear
And do anything else that is bold
As I stood on the top of K2
I thought "I did all this for you!"
"I brave the fierce wind"
"My career I've binned"
"But it's worth it, just look at the view!"
As I squelched through the mudflats of Kent
I pondered the reason for Lent
'Tis to boost sales of fish
I mused, with a wish
From the Humber, the Thames and Solent mercy!
The hardest of crimes to detect [pen] What about the Trent?
[Darren] I'm foreign now, and don't know those things. Axshully, I forgot it.
Are those that’s performed so perfect
But with Marple and Co
And with Poirot in tow
It'd be im-poss-i-bull to confect
The Severn, the Trent and the Dove
Flow with the rains from above
But in times of drought
They must do without
And rowers must get out and shove
When an Aberdeen lad went to Perth
He found out just what he was worth
When he looked at the cheque
He thought: "What the heck,"
"Give me haggis. To hell with my girth".
When travelling to Aberdeen
I turned to look back where I'd been
And ran off the road
Upset my load
Of hand-woven pink gabardine
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