The Vicar of Wakefield

There dwelt a vicar hail and bold, besides the Dog and Duck,
He kept a girl called Rita-May, she was his Sunday fuck.
His congregation loved the psalms, and sang them with great verve,
While Reverend George did work out how to do a body-swerve.

He dodged them at the parish door and at the lych-gate arch,
And hurried down to Rita’s house, Napoleon on the march,
He cried, I'm here, my cherry pie, my little dish of joy,
Please be undressed and good to go for God’s own special boy.

I’m in the lounge, a small voice said, quite low with stress and strife,
Why not come through and join us, dear, I’m sitting with your wife.

Sunday Service

A twisted funny poem about a the sexual shenanigans of a country vicar who comes gloriously unstuck. And there's not a choirboy in sight!


Funny Sex Poems


Max Scratchmann

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