The Poetry of the Prince of Penniscula


Mr. Matt Dorsey

The Girl Next Door


Plop, plop goes the dripping tap,
Bang, bang goes the girl next door,
Perhaps I can see through the gap,
Through the wall to see some more.

As I lie inside my bed,
I can hear their springy bed,
Up and down and then she groans,
God knows, I hate women's hormones.

He's all shagged out, I can't hear,
So through the hole I do peer,
He begs for mercy, "Please no more!",
"You're like a pro you bloody whore".

The guy on top looks awfully ill,
'Cos she's told him she took no pill,
Can you hear the sound of tiny feet,
Oh my God, they've maketh meat.

Nine months later the sound I hear,
Feeding baby on a pint of beer,
She's back in training once again,
On a gimp, subjecting pain.

I hate the sound of making love,
It makes me feel quite dirty,
Do cyber-sex and a surgical glove,
And a keyboard, qwerty.

Exchanging porn over the net,
Animals having sex with a vet?
Nothing compares to the girl next door,
She'll take you out 'til you're red and raw.

Take me back to Literary Corner M.D. 1