Twas a night for old horry, twas a night for a ball,
He has not a spare glance, for all but his dear, so, so small.
But horry doesn't mind, for horry was the key,
Been with so many so big, much, much cream,
That pooter boy was tired of the long, floppy jhonsons,
For now he just craves tiny little bons bons,
I'm tired of this, bored out of my mind,
I thought this to be fun, but no, I find.
So forget this sometimes ryhming, mostly dying makes such crying, and Suck It,
For I see that be all yee ever be doing, sucking your own D.