There once was a young, male recruit,
he was smart rather tall, also cute.
At the first interview
he was told: 'It is true,
I thought it quite exciting
that you would say you're not
a poet; words are biting,
the kettle calls the pot.....
They were tiny, these bubbles,
he'd called them infinitesimal,
though just to show some class,
soap tends to move with grace,
Two boys of the primary school,
thought it would be exceedingly cool,
if they'd take a big leak
at the end of the week
The mechanic was sad, and depressed
he went straight to his priest and confessed,
so the priest said 'tis fine
I will open some wine
I knew a cunning linguist
he'd go each Friday to get pissed.
Once on a Saturday he licked
a tiny glandula that ticked.
It would please me immensely, of course
and I thank you for thinking of me
if my wish were a high-flying horse
you can guess where its rider would be.
Mary had a little horse
the horse was just a pony,
the horse had hooves and balls of course
but ate no maccaroni.
Inside a dark and silent cave
he heard the sounds of pain,
he'd ventured far, a man so brave,
had thought it a small drain.