Limericks


~~ Page 29 ~~

Here I sit in the misty vapor.
Someone stole the toilet paper.
I cannot wait, I cannot linger,
Watch out ass, here comes the finger!



Here I sit,
What a caper,
I have to shit,
But I'm out of paper



Some people are poor,
While others are rich.
But a shithouse poet,
Is a son of a bitch.



Here I sit,
Cheeks a flexin.'
Squeezin' out,
Another Texan.



To the shithouse poet When he should die.
There should be erected,
Broad and high,
For his cunning And for his wit,
A solid monument of shit.



Better that
Than take a chance,
Costs more than a dime
To launder pants.



You're lucky
You had your chance
I tried to fart,
And shit my pants!



It makes me wonder, to see such wit,
If Shakespeare had been here to shit.
Some swear they saw Shakespeare walk in,
But others say that fart was Bacon.



No matter how you move
Or how you dance,
The last drop always winds up
In your pants.



Give me a muff with thighs on both sides
That's furry and pink all covered with stink;
I don't even care if it's old or it's new,
Cause what the hell, it's something to screw.



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