Peasant shooting season opens.

When it comes to licking fannies
I have to draw the line at grannies.
If I'm with a rank old crone,
I'm sure I'd leave her muff alone.
Not that I'm against old dears
But oral sex would lead to tears,
So, I'd rebuff without a mention
Somebody who draws a pension.

Normally I'm not that fussy
About my tongue's allotted pussy.
I don't mind a pungent box
That smells like fish from Grimsby docks.
Unwashed twats of rancid wenches
With a multitude of stenches
Do not put me off one bit
From a taste of slimy clit.

But flaps that have seen better days
Are ones from which I'll run away.
Wrinkly, saggy, floppy curtains
Are a turn off, that's for certain.
Chomping on an old pudenda
Will not be on my agenda.
So, if you get cheap rail travel,
Your piss flaps I'll not unravel.

If you're getting on a bit
And on my face you'd like to sit,
I'm sorry, love, you're just too old
And I'll not burrow in your folds.
But if you've gone to meet your maker
I'd go round your undertaker
Where I'd munch those broken bits
Made brittle by rigor mortis.

- Mike Stools (b. 1962)