Now Whistle Down The Wind's a yarn About three kids, who, in a barn, Disturb a bloke they think is Jesus Christ. 'Twas penned by Mary Hayley Bell, But this here version I will tell Has been spiced up and heist and diced and spliced. For though I give our Mary credit, I must admit I've never read it. But does this matter? Waterhouse and Hall, Who wrote the famous movie quickly, Both found the storyline too sickly And freely state they never read it all. (1) So though of facts I have a dearth, I'll tell a tale more down to earth, Than Mary's daughter Hayley Mills ere played; The following, in true Oggg fashion May sink to crude perverted passion, So best to click elsewhere if you are staid. Two teenage boys, called Ron and Mark Are searching bushes in the park, To find some condoms, once used, they can try. They've got a tingling in their goolies, For they are sure that tarty Julie's A-waiting down the lane for some young guy. A red french tickler now has Ronnie, And Mark a blue ribbed rubber johnny, And hope that randy Jules approves their choice. So off they hurry to the byre, (2) Each laddie with his loins on fire, From where they hear the sultry siren's voice. Fast our trio reach the cow-shed, Faster still their clothing now shed, Our two laddies take their virgin ride. Dicks immersed in some bloke's semen, They care not, their faces beamin' Each takes turns to get his hnob inside. But then a noise, and there revealed A man. Their passions now congealed, Our trio think this is the hand of fate. Julie gasps and gives a whimper, Ron and Mark are now much limper Than a dishrag past its sell-by date. "Now sod off, boys," this bloke declares, Unzipping, showing Jules his wares, She kneels there, quite transfixed, as if in prayer. Sees the size of that great wonga, Waiting not a minute longer, "Jesus Christ," she whispers, "Put it there." The consequence of escapades Like this is syphilis and aids, And our two heroes each by one infected; And Julie too the doc's attended, For now her belly's grown distended, And very soon a bastard brat's expected. And that's the lot, except this tailpiece: Girls if you would like a male-piece Big enough to satisfy you all, Come on round to Oggy's farm, And let me show to you the charm, Of Dobbin waiting for you in his stall. (1)Keith Waterhouse - Streets Ahead, (Sceptre, London. 1996.) (2) byre = cow shed.
Tuesday, August 12, 2003