I'll tell you the tale of a fellow,
Who hung round the local bordello,
In Venice, way back,
In search of a crack
To fit him. His name was Othello.
A tart wandered up, said: "Hey Sailor;
I'll act as your codpiece unjailer.
I see that your prize
Is one hell of a size;
That's fine, my cunt's big as a whaler.
So soon then, they jump in the sack,
He takes her to heaven and back.
"How 'bout getting hitched?"
He asked, but she bitched:
"My daddy won't like it, you're black...
"And he's such a pointed-head bigot,
He won't want no African spigot
Exciting his daughter,
'Cos he is the sort o'
Dumb racist who just couldn't dig it."
No matter, they wed on the sly,
But jealousy strikes by-and-by.
Bill's tale of great angst
Ain't worth half a wangst,
But it ends where the pair of them die.
Who's Bill? That old playwright of ours,
And he drags the thing out for hours,
So if you should go,
To see Shakespeare's show,
Take rotten tomatoes, not flowers.
Thursday, May 02, 2002