Dining Out in the Suburbs

Peter-Peter, pond-fish keeper,
Had a wife but wouldn't eat her,
Always had her doggy-style,
Wouldn't go that extra mile.

Peter-Peter, please go down,
Cynthia begged with pleading frown,
You thrill me, chill me, till me, fill me,
Blow my mind and really shill me,
But you leave me with a craving,
Itchy, scratchy, begging, raving,
So please go down and dine.

But Peter-Peter did decline.

Cynthia, darlin', beg your pardon,
But I won't till your lady garden,
When I prefer your ample rear,
And could stay there for a year,
‘Coz I would never want to cum,
Slapping on your big fat bum.

Okey-dokey, Peter-Pokey,
Now you've had your little jokey,
Cynthia said in steely tone,
So no more I'll grease your bone,
For I'm off with Ben next-door,
Unlike you, no prudish bore,
I get him up and he goes down,
Without complaint or with a frown,
So goodbye, Peter, rear-end-leaper,
Quoth the wife of Peter-Peter.

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