Wrap yourself in rubber, O ruddy-headed Dick
As soon as the surface you tread becomes slick
We all like the touch of a texture wet like dew
But even the warmest precipitation can bring sickness unto you
You may feel constricted, you may feel less free
But it is nothing like the inconvenience of when it burns when you pee
And remember, anon, when you protest that your pleasure in her it does diminish
That without your rubber she may grow full with child, her beauty eternally finished

Though she may be beautiful, though she may be tall
A one-trick pony will always be left in the stall
Keep that in mind, little Nellie, as you lie on your back
Let another do all the work, you’ll only get yourself sacked
For every finger thrown at you, you’ll pledge to pump a fist
For every tongue that wags in your direction, you’ll offer your own pair of lips,
And should someone really try your mettle, saying he’d like to think outside “the box”
Don’t give in to such a sly, silly fox,
Don’t let him see you blanch or cringe
or see your nerves he’s caused to singe,
Roll over fearless and free, little Nellie, show him you don’t mind
swallow your pride and offer your behind!

A bird in the hand is better than two in the bush, little lass
Remember these words t’ be true
For though they both may fit, though tightly, in that sodden grass
In the morn’ you’ll be black ‘n blue
Nay, sweety, one in the hand is the way t’play
Even naughtiness has degrees of class
So although you have two boys with whom to pass the time away
Make ‘em form a single file line for your *ss

In youth I dreamt, yea, that I saw two rising mountains
And to the South a cave whose walls were dewy wet
As if by the spray of some great fountain
And yet I confess I know not what these dreams mean
I knew only that I must explore and climb upon them
See what sighs would rise up from them
And when I’d penetrate to their depths
From somewhere North I would hear quickening breaths
And yet I do confess I know not what these dreams could mean
If some psychologist could look upon these visions’ doors
Study their shape, their locks and simply hand me the key
Then, then could this throbbing and longing cease within me
But until that day I can only sit in agony and repeat
Oh Symbols, Oh Mystery!

Why would I steal it
When you’ll give it to me for free
Toulera toulera toulera-e

Why would I grab
What you’ll hand over to me
Toulera toulera toulera-e

I’ll do the dance
I’ll wait in the line
I’ll only take it by force, my dear love
If I think it will ne’er be mine

The moon is rising yonder, and the night it’s drawing nigh
So get down upon your knees, little Beatrice, look upwards now and sigh
For your age it is tender and your lips are but in first bloom
Fear not the world’s pleasant but painful lessons
You will learn them one by one in the comfort of your room
For there are two balls that shine above you
One at night and one by day
And they touch your face at first so lightly
With their long and awesome ray

No lad or lass an island can be
This rule also holds true o’er the birds and the bees
We cannot be fulfilled if forever alone
So come, come together everyone
Until our ever crevice be known
For tho we enter another only briefly before coming back out
We must repeat these steps rapidly and often
Until the rhythm of life is established
And pure joy comes pouring out

Molly, can’t I mow your lawn
Molly, can’t I please
Molly, can’t I plough your earth
While it’s wet with dew and the grass is green

Molly, the time is both right and wrong
To plant these wicked seeds, whose sprouts are long
On your fallow hills I scatter them under the summer sun and breeze
And new life will spring from their hearts like a song
and possibly a disease

Release is necessary, sweet girl
For if you kept a juggler in jail
Would not his balls turn blue
And so you should go pay his bail
For in thanks he’d splatter purest praise all o’er you

From Killarney’s shore to the bays of Cork
There rode from town to town
A handsome lad, whose looks were of the roguish sort
That seemed to loosen every gown
And as he winds his way around
He’s followed by what to th’eye appears a cloud
But not of the mist and rainy sort
But upon closer look, a flock of storks
They called to him from on high
We have your fifty unborn children, m’lord
But he didst take one look upon those crying babes and simply sighed
Dismounted, and fell upon his sword