Felice Et Eroticum Est.

Bent double, an old beggar in silk slacks “These footballers are fags,” she cursed and swore Til on the sporting news she upturned her crack Showed them what many men have seen before. “They’re half asleep,” she grumbled to her boots Sitting in her church, where half the folk were blind Drunk on Jesus, deaf even to the hoots Of laughter as Edna bared her hairy behind GAS! Gas! Quick Ed – an ecstasy of laughter Slipping down her stockings just in time A racket erupted, the smell shortly after The vicar floundered like a man in fire or lime Dim, through the years of reading utter crap As under the bar-stools, I saw him hurling In all my dreams, I feel my corsets snap He squats in squalor, retching, choking, hurling If in the smothering fumes you too could sit As Christ's messengers quail at the stench And split your sides at someone's elses shit Her hanging tights, watching her colon clench If you could hear, at every squirt, the dump Come gargling from the newly opened tubes Gazing upon the ripe curves of her rump And marvelling at the cling-ons on her pubes My friend, you would be thought of as a nasty sod But could often tell to those at St Peter's The old truth: Felice et eroticum est pro patria defaecati .