Rub-a-dub-dub,
Three men in a Pub,
And how do you think
they got there?
The butcher, the
baker,
The candlestick-maker,
They can’t remember to
tell the truth
And to be honest they
don’t really care
Rub-a-dub-dub,
Three men in a Pub,
And how do you think
they got there?
The butcher, the
baker,
The candlestick-maker,
They can’t remember to
tell the truth
And to be honest they
don’t really care
Are you wearing black gloves?
Oh, it’s one of your
naked escapades
Just gloves and
matching shoes
Well, you look like
the five of spades
My dad bought a new red Mini
He had it parked up at
home
With a go faster
stripe down the side
And brightly polished
chrome
It had leather seats
And the dash was
polished wood
It was nineteen sixty-two
And it looked like a
Mini should
My Satnav is a very helpful device
But you don’t need to take
its advice
Sometimes you have to
give it a rest
Because it doesn’t
always know best
His head was so full of filth
And dirty thoughts
Which all centred
around
Getting into her
shorts
And when the act was
culminated,
By all reports
It was clear he wasn’t
the only one
With dirty thoughts
You are well endowed
Is it all you?
Or is it padded up
there
I won’t care
If you let me in up
there
And what about below
stairs
Just let me get in
under there
Into your under wear
And I will find your
derriere
Among your treasures
And some mutual
pleasures
Like a humid afternoon
She was left
breathless
Passions bloom
Lingering on her cheek
Contentment’s smile
Playing about her lips