At last I've got hold of my muse, so Although not the first one to do so, I'll tell you a tale Of the life under sail, Of a fellow named Robinson Crusoe.
He went off to sea as a nipper, Aboard of a lofty tea-clipper, And though a bright lad, He found he'd been had When the skipper done slipped him his kipper.
The helmsman got drunk as a skunk, Struck rock, tipped the skip from his bunk, The old ship went down, And the whole bunch was drowned, I'm the last of the Irish Rover.
No! that's dog-gerel.
'Cept Rob, clinging hold of the trunk...
...Belonging to old Captain Clore, (Of whom we will hear no word more,) And sitting astride, Like a bride on a ride, Quite soon he was washed to a shore.
| And here we give thanks to kind fate, | For giving that name to the late | captain, for had he | Been named Jock McQuaddy, | The chance of rhyme wouldn't be great.
He hauled himself up on the shore, Then glanced at his watch. How he swore, 'Twas Saturday after- noon, "Dammit I'll have ter Wait for help six days or more."
He figured he'd have to explore, And there on the south eastern shore, He found him a group From a stranded scout troop. He crouched in the woods and he saw...
...The leader, ('cos he's in the front,) Who's holding a shell, while a runt Doth whine, yell and squeal, In abject appeal: "It's my turn Mike, give me the cunt."
Now really it's "conch" he's a-saying, But Rob, in the thicket a-laying, Has not seen 'neath skirts For so long it hurts, And pussy's for what he's been praying.
He came with a rush from his thick- et, Clobbered the kid with a stick, And as the lad fell, He grabbed hold the shell, And rammed the thing hard on his prick.
Well, doing a thing so insane, Quite nat'rally gave him great pain, And so with a roar, And dick red and sore, Their presence he bids them explain.
They snigger at sight of his grue- some member, then say that they flew From Southend-on Sea, In an old DC3, In search of a fruit of strange hue.
He says "Kids, I'll help in your quest, And then, with some toolds from my chest, I'll build you a lugger, But first I must bugger The one of you I like the best."
They hunt for 'bout eight days or nine, Then rounding a headland they find, A fella and girl, He's chewing her pearl, "Come on, lads," cries Rob, "Form a line."
So yes folks, you've guessed, pretty soon, She's sprawling out on that sand dune, And though she's quite willing She's soon over-filling With jizz from that randy platoon.
There's thirteen boy scouts, who've undressed, Plus Rob, and her number one guest, So if you can count, You will see that amount Is 15 men on Edna's chest.
For each of them Edna finds room, And then in the light of the moon, In manner quite lewd, Fits a fruit, azure hued, To her crack, it's their goal, a blue legume.
A brunette, a redhead, a blonde Appear. How to get off, they pond- er, "Let's ask these three, Like MacBeth," says E. "Just how from this place to abscond."
"I got no idea," says blonde Bridg- et. "Make a boat from that old fridge," Says redhead, "I'll show You...." Brunette says "No, It's simpler to walk 'cross the bridge."
Last updated: Tue, 27 Jun 2000.