The Georgia Peaches

THE GEORGIA PEACHES

Near Atlanta there's a hovel
Hides a first class Georgia brothel.
Politicians, priests and others
Frequent it but no one bothers
To report their legal breaches
At the House called Georgia Peaches.

The building though it's gone to seed
Outside, inside fulfills a social need.
It stands a full three stories high
With dungeons below for those who cry
Out for a bit of sexual whipping,
Handcuffs, bondage, foreskin nipping

Over this mélange presides
The Madam, Cynthia Sobersides.
A genteel harlot now retired
Decides who's hired or must be fired.
What rates to charge for which arrangement
Upstairs, downstairs, in the basement.

Into this scene comes Senator Wicker
Who likes his girls a little thicker
Round about the waist and thighs
Willing to romp and improvise,
Hang from chandeliers and such
To liven up his lifeless crotch.

His favorite friend is Lil du Lipp
With ample ass and tits equipt
The talk down there at CNN
Whose staff she did one Christmas when
Ted Turner rode the newsmen's charge
Once Lily set her tits at large.

They each took turns and had their fun
As Lily did them one by one
Now as a group and then in pairs
Some in the lavatory, some on the stairs
Some while broadcasting the news,
Or during breaks and interviews.

Lily was busy 'til Christmas Morn
Standing alone while the others worn
Out from the roistering, jolly fray
Lay all around in disarray.
The outcome of that grand affair,
CNN went off the air.

CNN was off the air
Near half a day while it repaired
The staff and sets destroyed by fire
When overcome by base desire
A lady bending down to pee
Knocked candles off the Christmas tree.

So Lil slid on her tent sized knickers
Back to the brothel where Senator Wicker
And Cynthia Sobersides hot in debate
Whether it was a freebie since Lily was late.
Or was it a fact that he ought to pay more
Now that Lily de Lipp was a media whore.

Just so the house wouldn't be thus divided
Here's how the issue was finally decided.
If Lily could raise Senator Wicker's erection,
He would pay up, no cause for dejection
But if on the other hand Lily should fail
He'd walk out Scot free and no bill in the mail.

So Lily took the Senator where
A man can drop his threads and share
The sight of that lethargic lance
Designed for breeding and romance.
He dropped his drawers and in the hair
She found his worm recumbent there.

"Oh, Wicker," Lily says in fun,
"This is the sorriest little one
"In all the years, I dare to say,
"Has ever come to me to play."
"Be quiet, witch," old Wicker hollers
"Stick the thing between your molars."

Lily not at all unwilling
Put it where a missing filling
Left the tooth a trifle jagged
Tore the Senator's foreskin ragged.
"Holy shit, but that feels good,"
He said, "It's got so big it's drawing blood."

On with his pants and out with his wallet
He throws its contents onto the pallet
Where Lily lies in state of shock
Didn't even have to remove her frock
Knowing forever his cock would be scarred,
While he thought the blood indicated a hard.

The wives stay at home, as the fathers and sons
Devour the delights of pudenda and buns
On ladies of less than impeccable virtue
Who are paid by the hour to suck you and squirt you
With hot pussy juice or divine flavored piss
When you dive to the top of their thighs for a kiss.

It's usually at home where your spurter is fickle
The jet of your jism is down to a trickle
But here in the glorious Peaches of Georgia
Where ladies are trained to excite you and gorge ya
Penis erectus is taken for granted
Libido restored soon, your pecker gets planted.

Off you go home, a grin on your mug.
You stop at the liquor store purchase a jug.
Momma says " honey, are we celebratin'?"
You think to yourself, "sure, no more masturbatin'"
A coupla drinks, though, and she looks allurin',
Ripe for the pickin' and ready for hoorin'.

You drag her sweet ass to the old bridal chamber
But when you get there, man, you just can't remember
What caused you to think you could do it again
Like you did but an hour ago out on the plain
Where the harlot beside you fondles your leech
While you finger the pit of her sweet Georgia Peach.

So goodnight Madame Sobersides and Lily the Lipp
Thanks for the hour that I spent in your kip.
Thanks for the condoms and vibrating fingers
The smell of your snatches in memory lingers
Thanks for the air of debauching and mystery
And thanks for the hard-on I once thought was history.

The Peaches of Georgia way out by the racecourse
Is just what you need whether hung like a racehorse
Or like Senator Wicker found, to his pleasure,
The depth of a filling is just what you measure.
While at CNN they found perfect desire
Was setting the whole fucking station on fire.