Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

It gives me very little pleasure To dole out spunk by weight or measure To any other lady’s treasure, My darling. The wall hath holes — I do not woo them. The pillow creases — Je m’en fous them. The sofa cracks — I spunk not through them, My darling ! Italian boys have bulging bums ; Their well trained arsehole fairly hums. They shall not get my greasy comes, My darling. My hand forgets its ancient cunning. Before I knew you it was stunning : I could toss off some twelve times running. My darling ! Now I am guiltless of a stand. Only thy arse, thy twat, thy hand, Thy lips could rouse me ; that were grand, My darling ! I cannot piss : I cannot shite. Come quickly to me, warm and white ! Well fuck like buggery all night, My darling ! Aye ! In your scented arms I’ll creep. “ Well grip and kiss : well laugh and weep. And fuck each other off to sleep, My darling ! And after, when I come to die, You’ll lift your hot lascivious thigh And squirt your spendings in my eye, My Darling ! [142]