Limerick, cinque,
oh, limerick, it is my favorite shtik.
Limerick lingua,
oh, limericks are how I get my kicks.
Three A lines, B’s are two,
an anapestic purview.
Five lines is all that you do;
to clean humor, “adieu!”
Yeah, my joy is writin’ ’em down.
“There once was. . . .” often the starting sound.

Oh, lingua limer’,
oh, limerick, it is my favorite shtik.
Lingua limer’,
oh, limericks are how I get my kicks.

Use puns and homophones, the former holding sway.
It’s an art, I’m telling you, despite what some say.
When you start, you’ll soon be through;
line count never strays.
That count is always gonna be cin-co;
it is what keeps the form trim. So. . .
Limber lingua,
those limericks are what give me my kicks.
Yes, limericks stir—
these limericks, they stir me to the quick.
Oh, I love ’em, love lots of ’em.

The form’s OK; it cannot be any longer;
sixth line couldn’t be any wronger.
Iambs would make me rue;
those limerick lines need three beats, not two.

Oh, limber lingua.
Ban a line six…doin’ limericks.
Sixers—nix, sir!
No limerick would ever go to six.
Oh, I love ’em; limericks
give me my favorite kicks.
I gotta say that the urge is getting stronger:
I can’t hold out very much longer.
Mo’ limericks gotta get written quick….