by Peter Wyllie 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!
The end