Loves to spoon, does this guy; with the chicks quick and spry,
Casanova.
He will ply them with wine, hoping they will shine his spline,
Casanova.
Belles he’ll ring lingual-lingualing, lingual-lingualing,
And that thing voce: bella!
Then he’ll splay livid lips away, stick it in the bay—
He ain’t gay, lancing fella.

When it’s hardened, his tool, he’ll spike it past her vacu’le*,
Casanova.
He can lance, bounding meat is emprowed in a sweet that he loves.
Whether sodding a queen or prodding in between gams o’ novia—
Cooza he, butt-friendly, crack an’ hole happily,
Casanova.

Loves to poon, does this guy; with the chicks slick, not dry,
Casanova.
He’ll ply them with fine wine, then unbind his spline and grind,
Casanova.
Belles’ sweet lingually tingled thing. . .they sing, “Ring-a-ding!”
Like king preceding Elvis.
Part will sway, stick it in all way, slip it tip part way, drayed with receding pelvis.

When it’s calming, his tool: oysters, packs ’em a. . .a yule!
Nads are chauffeured.**
Up again bounds down meat, once more to meet and greet his new love.
Now it’s log-like, his beam; in hole streams a whole team:
Wagging rovers.
Spoogily they swim free, can’t grab hold; cad won’t be
Papa nova.

[alternate]
When his part starts to cool, he tries sparkin’ up that tool—
Chaps the boner.
When it’s lofting, his meat, no more soft, what a feat is this rub.
And it’s rock-hard, a beam; they go off the whole team—
Wagging rovers.
Use of the strut, you see—jacked up pole slappin’ free,
Staff of oaker.



*contraction, so to speak, of vacuole
**cho- [not sho-] fer: a small portable stove