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A TOUCH OF THE 'FARMER GILES'
by
Peter Wyllie(c) 2003

This is the tale of Sidney Gee
Who felt some lumps he couldn't see
And noticed, sitting on the chair,
He rose, six inches, in the air!

He tried suppositories and cream,
Squatting over menthol steam
Strangulation of the shoots
And nitric acid round the roots!

But still they grew like maiden's locks
He had to tuck them in his socks.
When he passed wind the ends would crack,
Flick up and scourge him on his back.

Until he felt an utter wretch
And doctors said "We'll have to stretch
Your bum, and try to flatten them,
'cause if we don't, you'll soon be plattin' em!"

The surgeon stared in disbelief
And, open mouthed, exclaimed "Good Grief!
The last time things like this were found
They hung in caves deep underground!"

But don't feel sad and don't feel blue
This is the kindest thing to do!
A shoehorn and some axle grease
Is all we need to bring release!

The nurse was very sweet and kind
"It's just a jab in your behind.
"It's just a little prick" said she.
"Well my wife has not complained" said Gee!

But very soon the op was done
The piles vanished one by one
The surgeon pulled the shoehorn out
And mopped his brow and looked about

He gave a smile, a little bow,
"I think he should be okay now!
So wheel him out and let him sleep
and in a while we'll take a peep."

When Sidney woke and groped about
He gave a cry; a yell; a shout!
From now on life would be a farce!
He had a three foot radi-arse!

 
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