THE BALLAD OF ESKIMO NELL

Skunkmiester

Lantern Swinger
#1
Gather round all you whorey,
Gather round and hear this story!

When a man grows old and his balls grow cold,
And the tip of his tool turns blue,
And it bends in the middle
Like a one-string fiddle,
He can tell you a tale or two.

So pull up a chair and stand me a drink
And a tale to you I'll tell,
Of Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
And a harlot named Eskimo Nell.

When Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete Go forth in search of fun,
It's Dead-eye Dick that slings the prick,
And Mexican Pete the gun.

When Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Are sore, depressed, and sad,
It's always a **** that bears the brunt,
But the shootin' ain't so bad.

Now Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Lived down by Dead Man's Creek,
And such was their luck they'd had no ****
For nigh on half a week.

Just a moose or two and a caribou,
And a bison cow or so,
And for Dead-eye Dick with his kingly wick,
The action was mighty slow.

So do or dare this horny pair
Set forth for the Rio Grande,
Dead-eye Dick with his mighty prick,
And Pete with his gun in his hand.

And as they blazed their noisy trail
No man their path withstood,
And many a bride, her husband's pride,
A pregnant widow stood.
They reached the strand of the Rio Grande
At the height of a blazing noon,
And to slake their thirst and do their worst,
They sought Black Mike's Saloon.

And as they pushed the great doors wide
Both prick and gun flashed free,
"According to sex, you bleeding wrecks,
You'll drink or **** with me."

They'd heard of the man called Dead-eye Dick,
From Maine to Panama,
And with scarcely worse than a muttered curse,
Those dagos sought the bar.

The girls too knew of his playful ways
Down on the Rio Grande,
So forty whores pulled down their drawers
At Dead-eye Dick's command.

They saw the fingers of Mexican Pete
twitch on the trigger grip,
And they didn't waitat a fearful rate,
Those whores began to strip.

Now Dead-eye Dick was breathing quick
With lecherous snorts and grunts,
Soon forty asses were bared to view,
And likewise forty *****.

Now forty asses and forty *****,
If you can use your wits,
And if you're slick at arithmetic,
Makes exactly eighty tits.

Now eighty tits are a gladsome sight
For a man with a raging stand,
It may be rare in Berkeley Square,
But not on the Rio Grande.

Now Dead-eye Dick had bungholed a few
On the last preceding night,
This he had done just to show his fun,
And to whet his appetite.

His phallic limb was in ramming trim
As he backed and took a run,
He made a dart at the nearest tart,
And scored a hole in one.

He bore her to the sawdust floor
And there he swived her fine,
And though she grinned it put the wind
Up the other thirty-nine.

When Dead-eye Dick lets loose his prick
He's got no time to spare,
For speed and length combined with strength,
He fairly singes hair.

He made a dart at the next spare tart,
When into that harlot's hell
Strode a gentle maid who was unafraid,
And her name it was Eskimo Nell.

By this time Dick had got his prick
Well into number two,
When Eskimo Nell let out a yell,
She bawled to him, "Hey you!"

He gave a flick of his muscular prick
And the girl flew over his head,
And he wheeled about with an angry shout,
His face and his prick burning red.

She stared our hero up and down,
His looks she seemed to decry,
With utter scorn she glimpsed the horn
That rose from his hairy thigh.

She blew the smoke from her cigarette
Over his steaming knob,
So utterly beat was Mexican Pete,
He failed to do his job.

It was Eskimo Nell who broke the spell,
In accents clear and cool,
"You ****-struck shrimp of a Yankee pimp,
You call that thing a tool?"

"If this here town can't take that down,"
She sneered to those cowering whores,
"Here's one little **** can do the stunt,
It's Eskimo Nell's, not yours."

She stripped her garments one by one
With an air of conscious pride,
And as she stood in her womanhood,
They saw the great divide.

She seated herself on a table top
Where someone had left his glass,
With a twitch of her tits she crushed it to bits,
Between the cheeks of her ass.

She flexed her knees with supple ease,
And spread her legs apart,
With a friendly nod to the mangy sod,
She gave him the cue to start.

But Dead-eye Dick knew a trick or two,
He meant to take his time,
And a girl like this was sexual bliss,
So he played the pantomime.

He flexed his buttocks to and fro
And made his balls inflate,
Until they looked like the granite knobs
On top of a garden gate.

He blew his anus inside out,
His organ increased in size,
His mighty prick grew twice as thick,
Till it almost reached his eyes.

He polished it up with alcohol
And made it steaming hot,
To finish the job he sprinkled the knob
With a cayenne pepperpot.

Then neither did he take a run
Nor did he take a leap,
Nor did he stoop, but took a swoop,
And a steady forward creep.

With piercing eye he took a sight
Along his mighty tool,
And the steady grin as he pushed it in,
Was calculatedly cool.

Have you seen the giant pistons
On the mighty C.P.R.,
With the driving force of a thousand horse,
Well, you know what pistons are,

Or you think you do. But you've yet to learn
The ins and outs of the trick,
Of the work that's done on a non-stop run
By a guy like Dead-eye Dick.

But Eskimo Nell was an infidel,
As good as a whole harem,
With the strength of ten in her abdomen,
And the rock of ages between.

She could take the stream of a lover's cream
Like the flush of a water closet,
And she gripped his cock like the Chatsworth lock
On the National Safe Deposit.

But Dead-eye Dick would not come quick,
He meant to conserve his powers,
If he'd a mind he'd grind and grind
For a couple of solid hours.

Nell lay for awhile and then with a smile,
The grip of her twat grew keener,
With a squeeze of her thigh she sucked him dry,
Like a brand-new vacuum cleaner.

She performed this trick in a way so slick
As to set in complete defiance
The basic cause and primary laws
That govern sexual science.

She calmly rode through the phallic code
Which for years had stood the test,
And the ancient rules of the classic schools,
In a second or two went West.

And so my friends we come to the end
Of copulation's classic,
The effect on Dick was sudden and quick,
And akin to an anesthetic.

He fell to the floor and knew no more,
His passions extinct and dead,
And he did not shout as his tool slipped out,
Although it was stripped to a thread.

Then Mexican Pete jumped to his feet
To avenge his pal's affront,
With a jarring jolt his blue-nosed Colt,
He jammed it up her ****.

He rammed it up to the trigger grip
And fired three times three,
But to his surprise she closed her eyes
And squealed in ecstasy.

She jumped to her feet with a smile so sweet,
"Bully," she said, "for you.
Though I might have guessed that that was the best
That you poor pussies could do."

"When next, my friend, that you intend
To sally forth for fun,
Buy Dead-eye Dick a sugar stick,
And yourself an elephant gun."

"I'm going back to the frozen North,
Where cocks are hard and strong,
Back to the land of the frozen stand,
Where the nights are six months long."

"It's hard as tin when they put it in,
In the land where spunk is spunk,
Not a trickling stream of lukewarm cream,
But a solid frozen chunk."

"Back to the land where they understand
What it means to fornicate,
Where even the dead sleep two to a bed
And the babies masturbate."

"Back to the land of the grinding gland,
Where the walrus plays with his prong,
Where the polar bear wanks off in his lair,
That's where they'll sing this song."

"They'll tell this tale on the Arctic trail,
Where the nights are sixty below,
Where it's so damn cold that the Rubbers are sold
Wrapped up in a ball of snow."

"In the valley of death with bated breath
That's where they'll sing it too,
Where the skeletons rattle in sexual battle,
And the rotting corpses screw."

"Back to the land where men are men,
Terra Bellicum.
And there I'll spend my worthy end,
For the North is calling, 'Come.'"

So Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Slunk out of the Rio Grande,
Dead-eye Dick with his useless prick,
And Pete with no gun in his hand.

When a man grows old and his balls grow cold,
And the tip of his tool turns blue,
And the hole in the middle refuses to piddle,
I'd say he was fucked, wouldn't you?
 
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