Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

ONE WAY OF LOVE I All June I rubbed my prick with grease. Now, hair by hair, I comb its fleece, And shew it where Pauline may pass. She will not suck me off. Alas ! What, no luck ? Lord love a duck ! The chance was she might need a fuck ! II How many months I strove to wipe My brown and corrugated pipe ! To-day I fart for all I know. She will not hear my music. So ? It is split ? Devil a bit ! Suppose Pauline had bade me shit ! III My whole life long I learned to frig. This hour I play the supreme pig And suck her pussy. Pox or clap ? She will riot give me syph ? Mayhap ! Pox who may — I still can say “ Those who get chancre, lucky they ! ” [112]