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Song Parodies -> "The Lickerish Song"

Original Song Title:

"The Limerick Song"

Original Performer:


Parody Song Title:

"The Lickerish Song"

Parody Written by:

John A. Barry

The Lyrics

There are various iterations of the OS. I used this one as my basis. The object is to keep adding five-liners to the opus, which I plan to do in future editions. Thanks to Giorgio Coniglio for the inspiration.
Five-, five-, five-, five-
liners some say are quite silly.
To me this is stellar verse
in which can a fella curse,
But some folks’ reactions are chilly.

There once was a young starlet who blew
Her lines; that made the producer rue—
He was not wont to grin,
Then she made his head spin
By undoing his “blues” with her moue.

There was a young girl who grew wiser
After her teacher did apprise her
About tangents and signs
And angles that incline,
Showing one that’s a “girlie riser.”

There was a young lady, appealing
To eyes of a card shark who’s dealing
Out just one more than four
Later on, he did score
In “poke-’er”—that game had her squealing.

A Frenchman who moved to Peru
Was so fat, his penile purview
He found in extremis,
Such that when he went piss,
He moaned, “Mon dieu, il semble perdu!”

There once was an ostentatious king,
Fairly dripping with baubles and rings.
But his favorite jewel,
As a general rule
Was called “family,” and it weren’t bling!

There once was a man from St. Paul,
Who went one night on a pub crawl
From one word here I shunt
Two letters; to be blunt:
It’s “pubic,” minus “ic.” What gall!

There once was an old man named Ray,
Who acted in a quite strange way.
He would first take a pic
Of himself and then stick
It up on Twitter for full display.

There once was a glutton named Louise,
And her mother pleaded, “Lou, chew, please,
With manners much better!”
Later, with lips wetter,
She stopped short of chew; boys rued, “You tease!”

The large end of a baseball bat
Tapers from narrow and gets fat.
One can use it as planned…
Hit balls to the grandstand,
Or put it where muscles expand.

There was on old woman from Leith,
So raunchy that she was beneath
Contempt, ’cause she lacked shame.
And her main claim to fame
Is what she can immure with her sheath.

There once was a man from Nantucket,
And his luck, he just couldn’t buck it. . .
Anapest destiny.
Stuck for eternity
In the five-line form where the schmuck fit.

There once was a man from Pawtucket,
Gland clamped by a clam in Nantucket.
He cursed like an old tar
Clambered to Nan’s clam bar,
Ex-clamatory, he: “Nan, shuck it!”

There once was a man from Nantucket,
Who injured his back in Pawtucket.
His chiropractor said:
“Without me you’d be dead.”
One crack and the guy kicked the bucket.

There once was a man from Nantucket,
Who said to an ill-mannered schmuck, “It
Is all well and quite fine
To bibe a lot of wine,
But please, use a glass—not a bucket!”

There was a stick fan from Nantucket,
Up whose sphincter something was stuck. It
Was his foolish doin’
for moonin’ a Bruin—
His poo ring took a direct puck hit.

There once was a man from Nantucket,
Whose wife, like most chicks, would upchuck if
She was forced to withstand
Rapid snaps of the hand
And doing one more “Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk!” bit.

There once was a man from Nantucket,
Who got his foot caught in a bucket.
His spry friend was nearby
And she started to pry.
Then after five tries, she’d unstuck it.

There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose friends said, “The lead, you must duck it
If you go hunt with Dick;
On the trigger he’s quick—
It will be you and not the duck hit!”

There was a student from Nantucket
The poor schmuck was plumb out of luck; it
Was the F’s that did stray,
But he got one, one day
For the orthographic gaffe “Phuck it!”

“What is that you have in your pocket?”
Asked Mae. The censors had a shock fit.
Soon after that, they tried
Such allusions to hide.
The Code prompted many a schlock bit.

In German, there is a word, “edel”
That is linked to “weiss,” as if cabled.
“Noble white,” what it means.
Parodies we have seen
Of that song from the LL* stable.

There was a young man from Iraq,
Who had hand grenades in his sack.
Not literally, though,
It’s a metaphor, so
Wrong. But that’s the limerick tack!

There once was a young man from Marseilles,
Who’s arrayed in a very marred way.
That’s because his testes
Come not in twos but threes.
The same arrangement as his Shar-pei!

A butter-maker from Birmingham
Had two pails going, fast churning ’em.
And not stopping to pause
Were her mammoth ta-tas.
To butter-churners she’s turning ’em.

There’s a guy who’s won many prizes
For his pumpkins of giant sizes.
Each one looks like the ball
Of a man who will squall
When mumps bring unpleasant surprises.

A man with a glandular plight
Provided his viewers a fright…
Looked like a pachyderm,
Causing many to squirm
And affirm, “Though infirm…outta sight!”

There once was a mane man named Samson,
And he was incredibly handsome.
He found what was in store:
Be shorn, have locks no more.
But at least she left ’round his gland some.

There once was a young lady named Lou—
Contraction of Louise—that you knew.
To say it is quicker,
But if you’re a stickler,
You’ll go all the way…syllables two.

There once was a young man from France,
Who kept a switchblade in his pants.
But the blade came unsprung—
Now he’s no longer hung.
And everyone knows him as “Nance.”

There once was a man from Duluth,
Who simply could not face the truth:
He’s a male, so he’d pose
In his wife’s pretty clothes
And insist that she call him “Ruth.”

Poor man thought that he was a lass,
And dame-arrayed, he could thus pass.
A boa of feathers
Used to shield his nethers
Calmed him and gave him “peace of ass’.”**

There once was a young man named Dave,
Who took too much drugs at a rave.
Then he didn’t feel well
And his treatment was hell,
Consisting of a stomach lave.

A fashion-follower, a Brit,
From shop to shop to shop did flit.
Yes, he was quit a fop,
Imagined in the pop
Song by Ray Davies—what a wit!

There’s a man with a musical wife,
But the couple had mutual strife
When he gave her a nudge
To play, but she’d not budge
To blow some tunes upon his fife.

In Wagner we find there’s Brünnhilde;
With bombast, brio he done filled ’er.
Though her singing’s quite good,
What’s upbringing my wood:
Before my eyes, the Brüstebilder.***

Wagner spent some time in Berlin,
And though with Strauss**** he wasn’t kin.
Nazis loved him and Wag’
Strauss just a machine cog.
Wagner likely would have been all in.

A whole coterie of dudes went
To president-elect and bent
(The entendre’s double
In the first line)—buccal
Pleasure they engendered till spent.

*Lerner and Loewe
***breast images

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Total Votes: 7

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Senior Limericist - January 22, 2017 - Report this comment
U should submit these original verses to

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