When it comes to licking fannies 

I have to draw the line at grannies. 

If I’m with a rank old crone, 

I’m sure I’d leave her muff alone. 

Not that I’m against old dears 

But oral sex would lead to tears, 

So, I’d rebuff without a mention 

Somebody who draws a pension. 


Normally I’m not that fussy 

About my tongue’s allotted pussy. 

I don’t mind a pungent box 

That smells like fish from Grimsby docks. 

Unwashed twats of rancid wenches 

With a multitude of stenches 

Do not put me off one bit 

From a taste of slimy clit. 


But flaps that have seen better days 

Are ones from which I’ll run away. 

Wrinkly, saggy, floppy curtains 

Are a turn off, that’s for certain. 

Chomping on an old pudenda 

Will not be on my agenda. 

So, if you get cheap rail travel, 

Your piss flaps I’ll not unravel. 


If you’re getting on a bit 

And on my face you’d like to sit, 

I’m sorry, love, you’re just too old 

And I’ll not burrow in your folds. 

But if you’ve gone to meet your maker 

I’d go round your undertaker 

Where I’d munch those broken bits 

Made brittle by rigor mortis. 



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