I asked her 'May I now yuck fu'
and she responded 'voulez-vous? '
I noticed she spoke only French
and laid her down on the park bench.
'Yuck fu', I said again this time
attempting to commit this crime
against society's good taste
my words though were a total waste.
And then she sat back up, the bitch
and yelled at me 'bun of a sitch'
I asked if she was off her rocker
to which she whispered 'fothermucker'.
I'd had enough now, pushed her down
and ripped to shreds her evening gown,
she fought a bit, that cocking funt
but it was really just a stunt.
Much later she was quite content
and did not ask me to repent
we met two poofters, what a gas!
one told the other 'uck your fass'
To which the first one whispered then
'of all the world's good-looking men
I picked the biggest diffest stick
can't wait until I duck your sick.'
Please excuse the language.
English can mest the tettle of the best.
This poem is dedicated to:
Monsieur Bon Rerge
Amicalement.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clean-language/
