Sunday, December 16, 2007


There’s nothing more will put you out,
And enfrown your Happy Face,
Than when a Zit should chance to sprout
Upon your Private Place.

No leverage with which to squeeze,
However much you strain –
No vantage point (if you should tweeze)
From which to take your aim.

Should you succeed to get a grip
Upon the Painful Site,
Be warned: for if you “Let ’er Rip”
You’ll shriek all day and night.

No: Better that you take a bath
Enriched with Epsom Salt,
And calm Carbuncle’s Flaming Wrath
With lots of Single Malt.

Tho’ music soothes the Savage Breast,
You’d best rely on Scotch
To put your seething Boil to rest,
If it sits near your Crotch.

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