Limericks, Spoonerisms and other similar poetry. (Language Warning)

Okay So I want to make a collection of Limerick, spoonerised and just funny poetry. Exactly like Pheasant Pluckers Wife. Or man from Nantuckit.  Got any?  Share them please (with credits)!

So I was told to put in explanations of limericks and spoonerisms first so people get the jist of things…

A limerick is a five-line poem in anapestic or amphibrachic meter with a strict rhyme scheme (aabba), which intends to be witty or humorous, and is sometimes obscene with humorous intent. It may have its roots in the 18th-century Maigue Poets of Ireland[citation needed], although the form can be found in England in the early years of the century[1]. It was popularized in English by Edward Lear in the 19th century, although he did not use the term.

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.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limerick_(poetry)

 

A spoonerism is an error in speech or deliberate play on words in which corresponding consonants, vowels, or morphemes are switched (see metathesis). It is named after the Reverend William Archibald Spooner (1844–1930), Warden of New College, Oxford, who was notoriously prone to this tendency.[1][2] It is also known as a marrowsky, after a Polish count who suffered from the same impediment.[3] While spoonerisms are commonly heard as slips of the tongue resulting from unintentionally getting one’s words in a tangle, they can also be used intentionally as a play on words. In some cultures, spoonerisms are used as a rhyme form used in poetry, such as German Schüttelreime. Spoonerisms are commonly used intentionally in humour, especially drunk humour.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spoonerisms/

I’ll Start with a not so well known poet (who is funny as hell) using his first attempt at spoonerism.

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A SHIT BATTERED

…

The chinless wonder
winless, chundered
and met the lad boozer
bad loser

who hocks blouses
to blocks of houses
but waved his pay|
and paved the way

to bubbling his debts
by doubling his bets
but after much bad luck
the lad buck

he thought, pheww, what’ll bite?
I know, a few bottles of white
so after a lot of that
not a gay lot

they got
in a black cab
to blab cack

me father, right
he’d rather fight
but faking funny money
is a funny way of making money

but after that laughter at
his dumb and mad
mum and dad
then they a-went away

to whinge and binge
and walk and talk
and gabber and blab
and blabber and gab

and went past a sign which read
Back Open For
Tastings And Parties
so they went in for
pastings and tarties

be freer
with
free beer

so, amongst the movers and shakers
the shovers and makers
the chewed up and spat out
the spewed up and shat out

for the boozer he oozed breezily
and winless?
he bruised easily

for he had a dream upon a
prima donna
and went for the pretty girl
who looked slightly nutty

while the boozer he went for
the gritty pearl
who he said was nightly slutty

skinny Myrtle
in her mini-skirt’ll
get you going
so, to winless he says, you go get in

but slightly nutty
was young with tears
though possessed of the
tongue of years

was wiredly tired
of the gnawed bones
of the bored knowns

and now winless, he was a wileless guy
asking a guileless why?

but she says,
I dread to think
what I’ve been fed to drink and
I always bite the hand that feeds me

so rejuffed and bilted
and a shit battered
winless he gets on the yellow bar and
bellows YAAAA

and I will fight the band that heeds me
which as an idea was both bum and mad
like saying I’m’ere I beer I’m dum and I’m baaad

and so
cos too little thinking and too many drugs
meant too much drinking and too many thugs

a tragic mix of magic tricks
who set out to destroy the best
of our distressed boy
but the lad boozer was fick on his queet

and knast with his fuckles
till wiinless ‘e gets low
so the boozer he says, ere, lets go
resist and you’re done

so they desist and run
its no fun to ruck
so they run like …

just another glitch in our
ill-starred story
stitched right through with
a lack of glory

and so they sit there
puffing till morn
sat in front of some
muffing porn

Jem Rolls (  http://jemrolls.blogspot.com/2009/12/shit-battered-chinless-wonder-winless.html )

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There was an Old Man of Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket
His daughter, named Nan,
Ran away with a man–
And, as for the bucket, Nantucket

This inspired numerous sequels, the most distinguished of which are believed to be the following, from the Chicago Tribune and the New York Press, respectively:

Pa followed the pair to Pawtucket
(The man and the girl with the bucket)
And he said to the man,
“You’re welcome to Nan,”
But as for the bucket, Pawtucket

Then the pair followed Pa to Manhasset
Where he still held the cash as an asset
And Nan and the man
stole the money and ran
And as for the bucket, Manhasset

Than it changed too…

There once was a man from Nantucket,
whose cock was so long he could suck it,
while licking his chin,
he said with a grin,
if my ear was a pussy I’d fuck it.

http://www.straightdope.com/columns/read/456/how-does-the-limerick-there-was-an-old-man-of-nantucket-conclude

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The Pheasant Plucking Song

Me husband is a keeper, he’s a very busy man,
I try to understand him and I help him all I can,
But sometimes of an evening I feel a trifle dim,
All alone and plucking pheasants when I’d rather pluck with him.

I’m not the pheasant plucker,
I’m the pheasant plucker’s mate
And I’m only plucking pheasants
Cos the pheasant plucker’s late.

I’m not good at plucking pheasants, pheasant plucking I get stuck,
Though some peasants find it pleasant I’d much rather pluck a duck,
Oh, but plucking geese is gorgeous, I can pluck a goose with ease
But plucking pheasants is sheer torture, for they haven’t any grease.

I’m not the pheasant plucker,
He has gone out on the tiles,
He only plucked one pheasant
And I’m sitting here with piles.

You have to pluck them fresh, if they’re fresh it’s not unpleasant,
I knew a man in Dunstable, could pluck a frozen pheasant.
They say the village constable has pheasant plucking sessions
With the vicar of a Sunday ‘twixt the first and second lessons.

I’m not the pheasant plucker,
I’m the pheasant plucker’s son,
And I’m only plucking pheasants
Till the pheasant plucker’s come.

My good friend Godfrey’s most adept, he’s really got the knack,
He likes to have a pheasant plucked before he hits the sack.
I try and lend a helping hand, I gather up the feathers,
It’s really all this pheasant plucking keeps us here together.

I’m not the pheasant plucker,
I’m the pheasant plucker’s friend,
And I’m only plucking pheasants
As a means unto an end.

Me husband’s in the woods all day, a-banging with his gun,
If he could hear me heartfelt cries, then surely he would run,
For I’ve fluff in all me crannies and there’s feathers up me nose,
And I’m itchin’ in the kitchin’ from me head down to me toes.

I’m not the pheasant plucker,
I’m the pheasant plucker’s wife,
And when we pluck together
It’s a pheasant plucking life!

Thanks for reading.. Who’s awesome???

you are…

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~ by John the Aussie on April 27, 2012.