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Click hereOh, I’m a pheasant plucker
And a pheasant plucker’s son
I’m always pheasant plucking
When the shooters have done.
My mum’s a pheasant plucker
When pheasant plucking’s done
She finds her joy in fucking
By servicing many a gun.
My Dad’s a pheasant plucker
And a pheasant plucker’s son
Now that women go shooting
He’s pleasured many a gun.
My gran’s a pheasant plucker
Mother of a plucker’s son
She’s always pheasant plucking
She’d serviced many a gun.
The guns are peasant fuckers
When the pheasant killing’s done
They’re always peasant fucking
When they’ve put away the gun.
I may be a pheasant plucker
Son of a pheasant hunter’s gun
Is the gun a peasant fucker
When all is said and done?
We’re all pheasant pluckers
Yet our blood shows true blue
Can they be peasant fuckers
If we’re as well bred as you?
I meant Oggilby, after a character named Og in one my favorite old movies.
Fun stuff, Ogg Oglesby. I like that you didn't ever go to the 'Pleasant Phucker' place, just left the pun hanging over the reader's head.
Fun read! See my additional comments in PF&D New Poem Recommendations.