Limericks: three plus two
Lines I add, and then five ensue.
Licks of sick, sic wordplay. . .
In my pad, I just spiel away.

I weigh each line, with the goal that it scan.
What I propound can make you chunder, man.

You know I love those limericks; they're like beer:
Because they fill my day with cheer.
Limericks, they ensue
After I've drunk a bunch of brew.
'bibing Scotch, I have a blunder hand.
Typing I botch and then can't understand.

You know I love those limericks; I'm endeared;
When I limn limericks, up I am cheered.
I've tried to do some not suffused with blue,
But they all come out lickerish, it's true.

Limericks I pursue,
Type up scads--each day, at least two.
Limericks work this way:

A
A and
B
B. . .a last
A.

Rhymsters mock and curse me with, "Gee, man!
This ribald shlock! Worse than verse of Gibran."

But oh, I love those limericks, and it's clear,
Though they're libidinous, they're without peer.
No other poetry for me will do,
Although parody's a close number 2.