Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

Assuaged our native rancour And broad our mouths with smiles : If you were thrall to chancre And I were page to piles ! If you were fucking’s lady And I were lord of buggery, We’d work electric handles To dildos, sticks, and candles. Till testicles kept hey-day In vulva’s greasy snuggery : If you were fucking’s lady And I were lord of buggery. If you were queen of spending And I were lord of spunk, We’d fuck for days together And oil your chamois-leather, And teach my tool a bending. Arid prove your twat a skunk, If you were the queen of spending And I were lord of spunk. EPILOGUE If I were bubo’s victim And you orchitis’ prey We find what strange delight is In epididymitis. Your cock — the tongues that licked him Would have the deuce to pay If I were bubo’s victim And you orchitis’ prey. [107]