[Douglas G. Brown]

A score and ten days constitute September,
As well as with November and with June;
And April has the same, I must remember
(Which doesn’t get me halfway through this tune.)

Now February’s such a special case,
I’ve placed it in the middle of my rime;
A score and eight its designated days
(At least they are, three-quarters of the time.)

But on the other twenty-five percent
Of years, ol’ February takes a leap
Ahead a day; a rather odd event
(To compensate for solar system creep.)

And when that cus-sed February’s done,
October, August, May, July, December,
And March all count their days as thirty-one
(Along with one more month I can’t remember.)

[Royston Vasey]

more in my previous post's vein:

Mary had a little lamb she loved in childish fashion,
When winter came, then hunger saw her scoff it with a passion.

As we went round the mulberry bush so early in the morning,
We should have seen insanity, the signs of, come forewarning.

When Gloucester-bound Doc Foster went a-paddling in a puddle,
His patients deemed him past his best, they thought his mind a muddle.

[Douglas G. Brown]

See that lady, dressed in blue?
She’ll go down, but not for you. ( Old US Army cadence call)

Naïve recruit, still green from daddy’s farm,
Direct your eyes a bit to ten o’clock,
Where you may gaze upon the ample charm
Of whore who can arouse a soldier’s cock.
She’s dressed seductively in azure hue,
Her skirt too short, her bra a tad too tight.
Now you may think she has the hots for you
And you’ll be getting laid by her tonight.

In fact, she’ll take on most of your platoon
This weekend after payday has arrived.
But you’re a hopeless stumble-bum buffoon;
So of her services, you’ll be deprived.
Go get yourself a Playboy magazine
And jack off Friday night in the latrine.

[Brian Allgar]

Oh, Douglas, that's very naughty!