Freebsd Limericks

There was an old woman of Ghent
Who swore that her cunt had no scent.
        She got fucked so often
        At last she got rotten,
And didn't she stink when she spent.

There was once a mechanic named Bench
Whose best tool was a sturdy gut-wrench.
        With this vibrant device
        He could reach, in a trice,
The innermost parts of a wench.

There was once a sad Maitre d'hotel
Who said, "They can all go to hell!
        What they do to my wife--
        Why it ruins my life;
And the worst is, they all do it well.

There were three ladies of Huxham,
And whenever we meets 'em we fucks 'em,
        And when that game grows stale
        We sits on a rail,
And pulls out our pricks and they sucks 'em.

There were three young ladies of Birmingham,
And this is the scandal concerning 'em.
        They lifted the frock
        And tickled the cock
Of the Bishop engaged in confirming 'em.

Now, the Bishop was nobody's fool,
He'd been to a good public school,
        So he took down their britches
        And buggered those bitches
With his ten-inch episcopal tool.

Then up spoke a lady from Kew,
And said, as the Bishop withdrew,
        "The vicar is quicker
        And thicker and slicker,
And longer and stronger than you."
                -- Abuses of the Clergy

There's a charming young girl in Tobruk
Who refers to her quiff as a nook.
        It's deep and it's wide,
        -- You can curl up inside
With a nice easy chair and a book.

There's a charming young lady named Beaulieu
Who's often been screwed by yours truly,
        But now--it's appallin'--
        My balls always fall in!
I fear that I've fucked her unduly.

There's a dowager near Sweden Landing
Whose manners are odd and demanding.
        It's one of her jests
        To suck off her guests --
She hates to keep gentlemen standing.

There's a lovely young lady named Shittlecock
Who loves to play diddle and fiddle-cock,
        But her cunt's got a pucker
        That's best not to fuck, or
When least you expect it to, it'll lock.

There's a rather odd couple in Herts
Who are cousins (or so each asserts);
        Their sex is in doubt
        For they're never without
Their moustaches and long, trailing skirts.
                -- Edward Gorey