A Tired Old Man

Once upon a distant time, within a distant land

There lived these luscious cabbage whores and one old tired man

His name was Fabric Cotton, but the whores all called him Jeff

He kept cases of Viagra, across the room, from where he slept

And incase you want them, crates of condoms, stacked high to the ceiling

Both the ridges and the smoothies, made for groining or for squealing

No matter what your fetish be, straight up or with some kinks

Jeff's got what you are after, son; and that includes the drinks

Sweet Betty, she's the heavy one, plus size, but still a cutie

With cannonball-sized melons, that were made for heavy duty

More curves than fat; and that's a fact, with stamina and power

You whip out Johnny, it’s even money, that she'll quickly devour it

Never upset by multiple poking; her thighs are like your wallet

Ready and open, with panties soaking, her name is, Nappy Charlotte

She’s as ugly as a lizard, and as dumb as a Texas waddie

But, what she lacks in beauty, she exceeds with a heavenly body

She's sure to get more pretty, as you slam back Johnny Walkers

But, come prepared to learn the verbs, because she’s quite the talker

This constant yakking, booty-packing gal, is hard to measure

Yet, she's the one who gets it done, when serving up the pleasure

Last, but not least, a sexual treat, a goddess quinn-essential

Her name's Katrice; ole Cotton's niece, so, she's more residential

She's the best whore, pound for pound, with lips both fat and juicy

She'll make a vacuum buckle-down, and second guess its duties

And when she's got you in the bed, you'll think you've gone to heaven

Plus she can handle three-on-one; ask, Peter, Jim and Kevin

Pay as you go, for as you know, you'll find ole Fabric Cotton

A sawed-off Mossberg in his mitts for those with dreams of robbing

That distant land and distant time, not known for pains or worries

Outside where crows, converge and grow is where you'll find them buried