Ben Franklin Mob H3

(First verse, sometimes skipped:)
The Mayor of Bayswater,
He had a pretty daughter,
And the hairs on her dicky-die-doe,
Hung down to her knees.

(Chorus:)
And the hairs, (And the hairs!)
And the hairs, (And the hairs!)
And the hairs on her dicky-die-doe,
Hung down to her knees.

One black one, one white one,
And one with a bit of shite on,
And one with a fairy light on
To show us the way.

(Chorus)

(Additional Verses:)
I’ve smelt it, I’ve felt it,
It’s just like a bit of velvet.

I licked it, I flicked it,
I even drop-kicked it.

I could not believe my eyes,
When I peered down between her thighs.

If she were my daughter,
I’d have her cut them shorter.

I parted her lips back,
And pulled out a thirty-rack.

I finished that thirty-rack,
And threw all the fucking empties back.

I reached into her thing,
And pulled out a class ring.

I stroked ’em and poked ’em,
I rolled ’em and smoked ’em.

You’d need a coal miner,
To find her vagin-er.

She says she is not a whore,
But she bangs like a shithouse door.

She married an Italian,
Who was hung like a  stallion.

She divorced the Italian,
And married the fucking stallion.

She married a Spaniard,
With a prick like a bloody lanyard.

She divorced the Spaniard,
And ran off with the bloody lanyard.

The aroma it lingers,
It smells like fish fingers.

She sat on the waterfront,
With the waves lapping up and down her cunt.

She went to Arabia,
And got camel drool on her labia.

She went with a Hash House Harrier,
Who fucked her but wouldn’t marry her.

She stayed on a cattle ranch,
And came like an avalanche.

It’d take a brontosaurus,
To eat her clitor-us.

It’d take a bloody wrecker,
To extract your pecker.