Some thirty years back now, or so,
In my battered old car we would go,
To a place so secluded,
And my Ermintrude did
Things that would make my dong grow.

Over my lap she would straddle,
And thereon, as many a lad'll
Tell you, I found
A spot in a mound,
In which I could park my young paddle.

Together we got in the groove,
The climax we had was to prove,
That tattered cliche,
When you've had it away,
We both thought we felt the earth move.

I looked up and noticed the scene,
Was different to what it had been,
The brake didn't hold,
While boffing we'd rolled,
Into the old muddy stream.

A breakdown truck gave extrication,
He grinned at our lame explanation,
Which with laughs was received,
And no-one believed,
And thus we lost our reputation.

Now for these thirty years she's my wife,
I've loved her for all of my life,
But these days we make
Sure our car has a brake,
So now we don't suffer such strife.

That last verse had hackneyed old rhymes,
So I'd better quit, (not before time,)
And I'm getting quite maud-
lin and you'll be bored,
So farewell, 'fore I'm dropped in the slime.



Tiddy.

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Last updated: Thu, 9 Sep 1999.