He

Rolled up in a cart, threw some darts
Let go a fart or two
Had a heart to heart
Over a jar too many

Checked out the exchange and mart
On the bar-top

Then

Part-ed with a tart who had a

wart

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quite smart

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“It is a smart art”
confided he later to said tart

“ploughing the lonely furrow”

„Turpini art“ – muttered the exchange-and-mart Lātvian tart.

„Only the old cunts in the field know
How hard it is to keep it straight.“

„You have a problem keeping strite? Well I can help“ she offered as he crashed the car gently by the hedge in Slut Hole’s Lane in Fuldmedston (pronounced fondle me des ton by those not from around there).

So what if it has a kink in it he thought to himself, passing out gently in her lap.

„you jis hatta black the cunt over and get it drilled straight“ .

This was his last thought for the evening.

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