She was born sans one waggin’ with a chasm below;
Her mama posted banns with a man named Bono.
Papa would ski but was none too good.
Beech, or was it a poplar?
But his head was softer than that soft wood.

Give me gland not beav;
Bespear me where out peeps a poon from down
And balls-me; give me gland not beav,
In fancy flight, call me man; overlook my mound.
I’m gonna add a pound.

Chick who’s a boy; down south she wants steel;
Ain’t no damn bride, bilious with a tw@t feel.
Guy since 16 in her cranium.
Gonna go where men piss,
Make water that is shot out of a new penile gun.

Give me gland not beav;
Bespear me where a mouth is southward-bound
And balls-me; grippy gland not beav,
In fancy flight, call me man; overlook my mound.
I’m gonna add a pound.

Gonna get retoolin’ at the slotted well,
Face still smooth. . .stubblephile.
Three months later, leave that gal in rubble;
She will not see again that defile, oh no!
The end of that vertical “smile,” uh-huh.

She was born sans one waggin’; now she’s Chaz ’n’ a beau;
Her mama once was glam—now looks like a scarecrow.
Plastic surgery will add wood. . .
Breech with slitted slot filled
Belle, former, best hope that the doctor’s good.

Snip me—ma’am shall leave;
Bespear me where out peeps a poon from down--
Don’t maul me. Tip me; ban that beav,
In fancy flight, call me man; gonna gain a pound,
A stake stuck in my mound.