The Ballad of Bunghole

He lay face down, in the desert sand, clutching his penis in his hand.
Shot in the balls, I thought he was dead; but in his hand, his pecker bled. So, late that night, I used my tool, and in to his butt-hole, pumped a pool,
for Bunghole.

I nursed him then, 'till the danger passed. In the days that followed, he mended fast.
And, hour on hour, he practiced that prong, for no other prick could last as long,
as Bunghole's.

One day we rode to the mountain crest, I shot East, and he shot West.
I took to the streets, and the alley bars, while he spread babies, near and far.
With cum, and blood, he gained such fame,
throughout the West, they feared the name,
of Bunghole.

I knew one day would come the test, of which of us was best, when, sure enough, the word came down, he had my horse lashed up in town.
So, I left my pants out in the street, and walked in alone to meet,
Bunghole.

Well, they said my speed was next to none,
but my lightening stroke had just begun; when I felt the moisture strike my wrist, and my cock went limp, within my fist.
And, of a sudden, I was staring down the hole, of the deadly four foot pole,
of Bunghole.

He quickly reamed my ass, and then, he said, "We're even, friend." And, at last, I understood, there was still a spark of good,
in Bunghole.

I blocked the path of his retreat, but he stepped aside, out into the street. Where a dozen queers grabbed his cock, and in a moment, he lay defrocked.
The town began to shout and cheer, and every whore did shed a tear,
for Bunghole.

They said it was time, and the rash, that made me put my cock away,
but, on his grave, they can't explain, the tarnished balls, above the name,
of Bunghole.