I'll sing a song of sixpence, and a pocket full of cum,
4 and 20 blackbirds molesting someone's bum,
I'll sing a merry ode to severed penile tips,
But no syllable of rude verse has ever profaned these lips.

I'll sing about the toilet that vomits every night,
And makes love to the plunger as it jabs with all its might.
I'll sing of 90 virgins slipping off their slips,
But no syllable of rude verse has ever profaned these lips.

Never a word,
'bout eating a turd,
Or killing a bird,
with a rock,
Or knocking one up,
Beak-down and bun-up,
Under the dock.
These lips are clean, They won't say tits or poop,
And they won't hack a loogey in your soup.

I'll sing some Ogden Nash, and quote some Mr. Carlin,
And brag about the dildo that I built out of a marlin.
I'll turn on the gas, as my underwear she rips,
But no syllable of rude verse has ever profaned these lips.

I wouldn't sing,
About anything,
That somehow could bring you offense.
I wouldn't boast,
'bout the whore I did most,
Or the hooker I bought for 9 cents.
My mouth is pure, I won't say anus or fart,
And I would never mention a private part.

I'll sing about the old man, who rapes the little boys,
and I'll sing about the way he lures them in with little toys,
Then, I'll sing about his wife, who cooks them up with parsley nips,
But no syllable of rude verse has ever profaned these lips.
No syllable of rude verse has ever profaned these lips.

© Christopher White 2004