The comely wench
by Alan Nettleton
a comely wench o’ twenty three, from yonder village banburee
alight her sight on poor auld me, a poorly man wi’ one bad knee,
she buxom be enough fer three, her legs be thick as big oak tree
but contrary to crippled me, she sprightly be wi’ two good knee.
as I took flight on that fateful night from rutting comely wench
I felt a pain, a twist, a strain, and a gutting rumley wrench,
yon knee was spent, wi’ geat lament, she’s upon me in a jiffy
she made it clear, she said, “m’dear I want yer little stiffy”
now twenty three ‘tis not in years, but sire, tis stones in weight,
and her on me wi one good knee, be too dire to contemplate,
but to my surprise she got a rise outa my little wrinkled pecker
wi’ her big thighs and arse the size o’ bleedin double decker.
