Hey, girl, what'd they put up in there?
Romancing bones ain't your type--
Did they stick up some guy goo?
'cause we know that you'd nix layin'
With a sir, your bodies swayin'.
If one said, "Blow me,"
You'd riposte, "You know me,
I love slough!"

Now Mary's a knocked-up dyke
And she's feeling like a mommy.
Surgical pipe shot the seed for her roe.
Got a fetus,
An egg'd meet a squeeze of ball spray.
"Daddy's" sans pike--her partner Heather Poe.

Heather renounced the dildo one night
Pulled out that thing for a poke
Up the snatch to impart
Semen from a guy who saw new
Pics of chicks that made him paw two
Beakers chock-full of cream
That in Mary caused cell growth to start.

To the pews this chick ain't playin'.
What's the one who's "godly" sayin'?
Who's vowed a holy
Union can be only
Boy-girl two?

But Mary's a knocked-up dyke;
Her offspring will have two mommies.
Her dad's boss likes not homos and lesbos.
But at least an
Egg's been saved being tossed away. . .
Likes eggs in dyke more than to save lives, though.

Snow meets the press:
"She's enceinte immaculate way.
Surrogate type--well, let's just call him 'Joe'."