I was working like a lad late one night,
Fantasized about my dearie, tight.
And then my monsstirring slab began to rise—
She sauntered in, to my surprise.

CHORUS:
The monsstir splash,
We did the monsstir splash.
The monsstir splash,
It fuzzed a gaping slash.
The monsstir splash.
It cogged on in the gash.
We diddled fast.
We did the monsstir splash.

From her labiatory came some cachèd yeast;
I ran fast from headroom, vamoosed from the feast.
My jewels all came from their hummèd abode
And gave a jolt through my erect toad.

CHORUS

The zombies had lots of rum.
The painter had a big 'n' .
The gesso smoothed in, vulvan—
Spatulaed, not to run.

The seam was rockin', I was diggin' the mound,
The gorer strained, cracked by splaying pounds.
The coughin'-gagger was about to arrive;
I vote for this over slicked fingers five.

CHORUS

She started coughin'; she'd vac'ed the thing.
Cream started bubblin'—gustation fling.
Opened the lid to shake free some mist
And said: "That's never happened; it's a tracheal-cranial spritz!"

CHORUS

Now everything's drool; drag the part from the span,
And the monstirred gash gives a drip from the gland.
The yule log's livid—been mashed by maid's coo'.
When you get to that door, swell, then bore with a coup.

A coup de Grâce,
A monsstirred coup de grâce.
A coup de grâce.
It's not a graybar cache.
A coup de grâce,
Don't get caught on a clasp.
A coup de grâce
A monsstirred coup de grâce.