Four And Twenty Virgins

Four & twenty virgins came down from Inverness,

And when the ball was over there was four and twenty less.

Balls to your partner, arse against the wall,

If you never get Fucked on a saturday night,

You’ll never get Fucked at all.

The village postman he was there, he had a dose of pox,

He couldn’t fuck the women so he Fucked the letterbox.

The village plumber he was there, he felt a fucking fool,

He walked eleven miles or more and forgot to bring his tool.

There was fucking in the hallways and fucking in the ricks,

You couldn’t hear the music for the swishing of the pricks.

There was fucking in the ante-room and fucking on the stairs,

You couldn’t see the carpet for the short and curly hairs.

The parson’s daughter she was there, the cunning little runt,

With poison ivy up her arse, and a thistle up her cunt.

The vicar’s wife she was there, sitting by the fire,

Knitting rubber johnies from an indian rubber tyre.

The village idiot he was there, sitting up a pole,

He pulled his foreskin over his head and whistled down the hole.

The village Smithy he was there, sitting by the fire,

Doing abortions by the score with a piece of red hot wire.

The Smithy’s brother he was there, a mighty man was he,

He lined them up against the wall and fucked them three by three.

Giles he played a dirty trick, we cannot let it pass,

He showed a lass his mighty prick and shoved it up her arse.

Jock McTavish he was there, his prick was long and broad,

When he Fucked the farmers wife she had to be rebored.

Little Tommy he was there, he was only eight,

He couldn’t fuck the women so he had to masturbate.

And when the ball was over, everyone confessed,

They all enjoyed the dancing, but the fucking was the best.