Gavin Friday

There were four old whores from Baltimore
Drinking the blood red wine
And all the conversation was
“Yours is smaller than mine.”

Through me roly, poly, tickle my hole-y,
Smell of my slimy slough,
and drag your nuts across me guts,
I’m one of the whorey crew.

“You’re a liar,” said the first whore,
“Mine’s as big as the air
The birds fly in, the birds fly out,
And never touch a hair.”

“You’re a liar.” said the second,
“Mine’s as big as the sea
The ship sails in, the ship sails out
Never troubles me.”

“You’re a liar,” said the third whore,
“Mine’s as big as the moon,
the men jump in, the men jump out,
Never touch the womb.”

Swab your decks, me hearties
Slice them up with pride
Light your oars, you sons of whores
Yours is smaller than mine

“You’re a liar,” said the last whore,
“Mine’s the biggest of all,
the fleet sailed in on the first of June,
and didn’t come back till Fall.”