Monday, April 11, 2011

The Babies' Got 'em Rabies

The poor boor and his whore
With her body all sore
He sat on the sea shore

And wondered what he wore
When he was at the moor
Boots, it was not he was sure

For he threw his only pair out the door
He had to, as he killed his last whore with it
Which caused a lot of gore

He needed to keep on killing to maintain score
And before murdering, their clothes he tore
It excited him otherwise it was a bore

The poor boor was sad now
A feeling he never felt before
And he realised he wanted to kill no more

He was in love now: for his new whore, affection pore
No matter she looked like a man, no matter she sometimes did roar!

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