Some jokes I scorn, gags that make me gag—
Oooh, they're dread, trite, and blew.
If in that can's Prince Albert, release,
Dude, him please, I am asking you, now.

It taints me, it taints me; my aim: sow sematic fun.
It taints me, it taints me; my aim is forgin' a pun.

Some jokes are borne where folks place their pants—
“Ow!” the joke's butt will yell.
Butt rent when tacks man just goes and pours,
Oww! a bunch where the bum hits the chair. Yow!

It ain't mi; it ain't ti; there ain't those notes in this song.
It ain't mi; it ain't ti in my aim: forgin' a song.

Some jokes inherently make you sigh
'cause the punchline is shopworn. Warn:
And when you tell them, listeners will give
Euw! to you their please: "No more, boor bore!" Scorn.

The plaint's free, the plaint's free: "We hope your silly air's done!"
The plaint's free, the plaint's free: "You taint by forgin' a pun!"