Since you ask, Douglas. Since you ask. And what is wrong with filth in poems, pray. Rochester was a horrible man but he wrote a neat line in filthy poetry.
Lord, ain’t it all a blooming shame?
Religion’s gone to pot today.
Papist or Prot, It’s just the same.
The Vicar’s pissed on Beaujolais
The prettiest choirboy’s pissed on gin.
I’ve had the angel once or twice.
His body, though as sweet as sin,
Is quite competitively priced,
Enough to stuff his nose with Coke.
It’s bad but I was not the first.
He’s got a sister any bloke
Wishes would quench his sexual thirst.
Sensual, consensual and sincere,
She beats a sandwich and a beer.
I regret the loss of my last line.
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