Written by queen mudder
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Wednesday, 2 December 2009

image for The Tiger (with apologies to William Blake 1757-1827) Tiger, just One Big Puss at heart

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the fleshpots of the night,
What trembling hand on flaccid cock
Could frame thy awesome steering lock?

In what luscious deeps or pits
Burnt the fire of thine lips?
On what thrusts dare he aspire?
He who loves to play with fire?

What cold muff or harlot's art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy balls began to heat,
Dids't thou then get sore cold feet?

What's the matter? what's the pain?
In what pussy was thy brain?
What's the angle? Who's dead sorry
About the night you pranged your lorry?

What with slags like Britney Spears
All kindsa chaps have all kindsa fears.
Did He smile His joke to see?
He who made Alan Lamb* also made thee??

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the fleshpots of the night,
What trembling hand on flaccid cock
Could frame thy fearful steering lock?

* Famous English cricketer

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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