I tell you son it's lots of fun when first you see a fanny, It beats all treats like childhood sweets, you got from your granny. And when you get to touch it, man it starts your heart a thumpin, The joy and jubilation as your trousers get a lump in. No more are you just tied to tits, although for these were grateful, Alas they just cannot compete, even the largest plateful, A great big wet and hairy motte, can turn your brain to jelly, It draws you in like moth to flame, unless the bastards smelly. The feel of smooth, or hairy flaps, there's nothing that can beat it, and once you get your finger in, it makes you want to eat it. Its hot its wet, it's fuckin great, it compels you to stroke it, And when you've had enough of that, it must be time to poke it. It opens to accomodate, then closes round your tackle It grips like shit and makes you fit and clamps down like a shackle. Unless of coure the owners slack, and then its gone all floppy, But I don't care I'd still go "there", its still quite nice when sloppy. So summin up on minge my friend, it is quite often said, The only real spoilt clunge, is when the owners dead, Ive used them all around the world and I can tell you brothers, Theres no such thing as rotten minge, just some's better than others.