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Poking The Fire

When you are poking the fire
You don’t look at the mantelpiece

I think her name was Nancy
She didn’t look very fancy
And had a reputation about getting into her panties

She certainly wasn’t prude
But not a pretty nude
So I hesitated slightly before I did intrude

I think her name was Rose
Twice my age I suppose
With a very firm grip once I was enclosed

Much better days she’s had
But still a fair shag
Somehow I couldn’t stop thinking of saddlebags

I think her name was Kelly
All wobbly, a bit like jelly
It took me ages to confirm her underbelly

Slightly oversized
She might have been surprised
That we ended up having a hell of a ride

I thought her name was Mary
She seemed a little bit hairy
We only just met and she wanted me to marry

My Hand became shyer
So I stopped poking the fire
‘Cause my Mary was a Harry and a fucking liar