There once was a newlywed couple named Kelly,
who spent their honeymoon belly to belly.
But in their haste they used library paste,
instead of petroleum jelly.

Not to be pedagogic, but let's please keep them in form. To quote a Wiki:

"The standard form of a limerick is a stanza of five lines, with the first, second and fifth usually rhyming with one another and having three feet of three syllables each; and the shorter third and fourth lines also rhyming with each other, but having only two feet of three syllables. The defining "foot" of a limerick's meter is usually the anapaest, (ta-ta-TUM), but limericks can also be considered amphibrachic (ta-TUM-ta).

"The first line traditionally introduces a person and a place, with the place appearing at the end of the first line and establishing the rhyme scheme for the second and fifth lines. In early limericks, the last line was often essentially a repeat of the first line, although this is no longer customary.

"Within the genre, ordinary speech stress is often distorted in the first line, and may be regarded as a feature of the form: "There was a young man from the coast;" "There once was a girl from Detroit…" Legman takes this as a convention whereby prosody is violated simultaneously with propriety.[4] Exploitation of geographical names, especially exotic ones, is also common, and has been seen as invoking memories of geography lessons in order to subvert the decorum taught in the schoolroom; Legman finds that the exchange of limericks is almost exclusive to comparatively well-educated males, women figuring in limericks almost exclusively as "villains or victims". The most prized limericks incorporate a kind of twist, which may be revealed in the final line or lie in the way the rhymes are often intentionally tortured, or both. Many limericks show some form of internal rhyme, alliteration or assonance, or some element of word play."

The following example of a limerick is of unknown origin.

The limerick packs laughs anatomical
In space that is quite economical,

But the good ones I've seen
So seldom are clean,

And the clean ones so seldom are comical.

Leave it to the wiki fun police to quash an otherwise humorous thread.

There once was a writer from Utah
Who threw a Holy literary shittah
Over limericks he quipped
Less then 5 lines is gypped
This he decreed his fatwah

Not bad, not bad at all.

There once was a girl from Belize
Who's pubic hair hung down to her knees

The crabs in her t**t
Tied the hairs in a knot

And swung from the flying trapeze



OK, I fixed mine.

There once was a lady named Alice,
used a dynamite stick for a phallus,
they found her vagina
in South Carolina,
and her anus was found west of Dallas!

There was a young girl named Anheuser
Who said that no man could surprise her.
But Pabst took a chance,
Found Schlitz in her pants,
and now she is sadder Budweiser.

A Salvation Lassie named Claire
Was having her first love affair.
As she climbed into bed
She reverently said,
"I wish to be opened with prayer."

A nudist girl wearing three raisins,
A masquerade prize was her goal,
The judges said "lookie,
From the front she's a cookie,
From the back she's a Parker House roll."

There was a young man of Natal
And Sue was the name of his gal.
One day, north of Aden,
He got his hard rod in,
And came clear up Suez Canal.

Pine insulensis inevit
Rectum simioli quem scivit
Proles infrontata
Horrida glandata
Et semper violare cupivit.

Il y avait une madame de Lahore
Dont la figure n'etait le meilleure,
Mais la vagine tres forte,
Toujours ouverte la porte,
Encore, et encore, et encore.

Sass Madelein unter den Aestchen
Und spielt' mit dem Knableinmastchen,
Dem niedlichen Zweck-
Bald ist der Kranz weg:
Blieb nichts davon nur das Kastchen.




I have no idea what these last three say (and apologize for the lack of umlauts or other phonetic markings) but I wanted to honor the international spirit of this forum.

A magnum opus of lyrical limickery


The Farter From Sparta

There was a young farter from Sparta,
A really magnificent farter,
On the strength of one bean
He'd fart "God Save the Queen",
And Beethovens Seventh Sonata.

He could vary, with proper persuasion,
His fart to suit any occasion.
He could fart like a flute,
Like a lark, like a lute,
This highly fartistic Caucasian.

He could whistle, could warble and hum,
By constricting the hole in his bum,
And make animal sounds,
Or fire artillery rounds,
With the force of a field cannon gun.

The fabulous farter from Sparta,
Performed at command by Royal Charter,
Did Brahms, Grieg and Mozart,
For 'piano and fart',
And for an encore he did Bach's Toccata.

His repertoire ranged from classics to jazz,
He achieved new effects with bubbles of gas.
With a good dose of salts
He could fart a waltz
Or swing it in razzamatazz.

He's accompanied Oasis and Blur,
And done backing music for Cher,
Though his style is obscene,
It's been used on big screen,
In sound effects on the movie Ben Hur.

He'd fart a gavotte for a starter,
And whiffle a fine serenata.
He could play on his anus
The Coriolanus:
Ood, boom, er-tum, tootle, yum tah-dah !

His basso profundo with timbre so rare
He rendered quite often, with power to spare.
But his great work of art,
His fortissimo fart,
He saved for the Marche Militaire.

When Sparta's farter was truly on form,
His ass could outplay a French horn,
He'd give all day recitals,
With the air from his vitals,
After a large plate of leeks and some corn.

This sparkling young farter from Sparta,
His fart for no money would barter.
He could roar from his rear
Any scene from Shakespeare
Or Gilbert and Sullivans Mikado.

He could imitate jets supersonic,
Or play compositions symphonic,
He played Handel's Messiah,
He reached top C and higher,
But only after a mammoth colonic.

A family size can of baked beans,
Could fuel the main movie themes,
Star Wars and some westerns,
Were most often requested,
Though the odour was somewhat obscene.

Spurred on by a very high wager
With an envious German named Bager,
He'd proceeded to fart
The complete oboe part
Of a Haydn Octet in b-major.

He could play Holst's Mars and Uranus,
By expelling the air from his anus,
He did Copacabana,
But his Carmina Burana,
Was proclaimed a cantus profanus.

This man with the musical arsehole,
Was asked to perform at a castle,
He ignited his gas,
Near exploded his ass,
And the Count cried out 'Once more, you rascal!'

One day he was dared to perform
The William Tell Overture Storm,
But naught could dishearten
Our spirited Spartan,
For his fart was in wonderful form.

The Count hosted the concert with style,
And the queue to get in was a mile,
The farter ate leeks,
Lived on beans for two weeks,
Knowing his farts were on trial.

He practised by farting some tunes,
Till his arsehole made sounds like bassoons,
Symphonies, sonatas,
Serenades and cantatas,
And the theme from The Mouse on the Moon.

He played The Ride of The Valkyries,
And brought the whole crowd to their knees,
Women fainted and screamed,
At The Dambusters theme,
And The Flight of the Bumblebee.

He farted on feeling quite merry,
Did the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies,
His farts echoed and swelled,
(And so did the smell),
And his face went as red as a cherry.

With a smell like a heap of manure,
He began the William Tell Overture,
They gasped as it started,
Cheered the farter from Sparta,
And soon they were screaming for more.

It went off in capital style,
As he farted it through with a smile,
Then, feeling quite jolly,
He reached the Finale,
Blowing double-stopped farts all the while.

The selection was tough, I admit,
But it did not dismay him one bit,
Then, with arse thrown aloft
He suddenly coughed....
And collapsed in a shower of sh*t.

One mammoth turd blocked up his arse,
Around it no fart could be passed,
His bowel filled with farts,
From his arse to his heart,
And inflated his belly with gas.

All at once the poor farter exploded,
His expanding bowel overloaded,
The room filled with screams,
As gas-filled intestines,
Rose up to the ceiling and floated,

Like a string of long brown balloons,
His innards were strung round the room,
The odour was ripe,
So the Count lit his pipe,
And the whole place went up with a BOOM!

His bunghole was blown back to Sparta,
Where they buried the rest of our farter,
With a gravestone of turds
Inscribed with these words:
"To the Fine Art of Farting, A Martyr."

Splendid, gentlemen. This gets better and better. Thank you very much.

May I try ?


I was the son of the invisible man
And, poor me, my father I never saw
I was the son of the invisible woman
And, poor me, my mother I never saw
but I love them though, my transparents ...

A little cadence I learned long long ago called The Prettiest Girl - one guy sounds off each line, which in turn is repeated by the formation/platoon while marching or running

The prettiest girl
I ever saw
Was sippin' bourbon
Through a straw
The prettiest girl
I ever saw
Was sippin' bourbon through a straw

I walked right up
I sat right down
I ordered up
Another round
I walked right up
I sat right down
I ordered up another round

I picked her up
I laid her down
Her long blonde hair
Lay all around
I picked her up
I laid her down
Her long blonde hair lay all around

I stuck it in
I pulled it out
It felt so good
I had to shout
I stuck it in
I pulled it out
It felt so good I had to shout

The wedding was
A formal one
A white tuxedo
and a black shotgun
The wedding was
A formal one
A white tuxedo and a black shotgun

And now I have
A mother in law
And fourteen kids
Who call me Pa
And now I have
A mother in law
And fourteen kids who call me Pa

The moral of
The Story is clear
Instead of bourbon
STICK TO BEER!
The moral of
The story is clear
Instead of bourbon, stick to beer.