Don't look at me that way, stranger,
my pants ain't full of shit,
It's just this God-damned syphilis
eating me bit by bit.
When a man grows old and his balls grow cold
and the tip of his knob turns blue,
And it's bent in the middle like a one-string fiddle,
he can tell you a tale or two.
So fill my glass and I'll park my arse
and a tale to you I'll tell
Of Deadeye Dick and Mexico Pete
and the gentle Eskimo Nell.
Now when Deadeye Dick and Mexico Pete
go forth in search of fun,
It's usually Dick who wields the prick,
and Mexico Pete the gun.
And when Deadeye Dick and Mexico Pete
are sore depressed and mad,
It's mainly cunt that bears the brunt,
so the shooting ain't too bad.
Now Deadeye Dick and Mexico Pete
had been working Dead Man's Creek,
And they'd had no luck in the way of a fuck
for nigh on half a week --
Just a moose or two, and a caribou,
and a bison cow or so,
And since Deadeye Dick's was the king of pricks,
he found this fucking slow.
So do or dare, this horny pair
set out for the Rio Grande,
Deadeye Dick with his muscular prick,
and Pete with gun in hand.
They blazed away on their randy way,
no man their fire withstood,
And many a bride who was hubby's pride
knew pregnant widowhood.
They made the strand of the Rio Grande
at the height of a blazing noon,
And to slake their thirst and do their worst
They sought Black Mike's saloon,
Came crashing in with doors aswing.
Both prick and gun flashed free:
"According to sex, you poxy wrecks,
you drinks or fucks with me."
Now they knew of the fame of our hero's name
from the Horn to Panama,
And with nothing worse than a muttered curse
those cowhands sought the bar.
And the women too his habits knew
down on the Rio Grande,
And forty whores pulled down their drawers
at Deadeye Dick's command.
They saw the fingers of Mexico Pete
twitch on the trigger grip;
'Twas death to wait -- at a fearful rate
those whores began to strip.
Now Deadeye Dick was breathing quick
with lecherous snorts and grunts
As forty arses were bared to view,
to say nothing of forty cunts.
Now forty arses and forty cunts --
you'll see, if you use your wits
And are pretty slick at arithmetic --
that's likewise eighty tits.
And eighty tits is a gladsome sight
for a man with a raging stand;
They may be rare in Berkeley Square,
but not on the Rio Grande.
Dick backed to the door and the number one whore
could see in the chandelier's prism
As he sprung through air, his ballocks all bare
and sprayed her with his jism.
His phallic limb was in fighting trim
as he backed and took a run.
He made a dart at the nearest tart
and scored a hole in one.
He bore the whore to the sandy floor
and fucked here deep and fine,
And though she grinned, it put the wind
up the other thirty-nine.
When Deadeye Dick lets loose his prick,
he's got no time to spare,
For with speed and length combined with strength,
he fairly singes hair.
So Deadeye Dick, he fucks 'em quick,
and flinging the first aside,
He was making a gin at the second quim,
when the swing doors opened wide.
Then there entered into that hall of sin --
yes, into that harlots' hell --
A lusty maid who was unafraid,
and her name was Eskimo Nell.
By this time Dick had got his prick
well into number two,
When Eskimo Nell lets out a yell
and says to him, "Hey -- you".
The hefty lout, he turned about.
Both knob and face were red.
With a dextrous flick of his muscular prick,
the tart flew o'er his head.
With a lustful leer he said, "Look here,
just get into the queue:
I've got to mate with thirty-eight
before I get to you.
But Eskimo Nell, she stood it well
and looked him in the eyes;
With utter scorn she scanned the horn
that rose from his hairy thighs.
She blew a puff from her cigarette
onto his steaming knob;
So utterly beat was Mexico Pete,
he forgot to do his job.
It was Eskimo Nell who broke the spell
in accents calm and cool:
"You cunt-struck shrimp of a Yankee pimp,
do you call that thing a tool?
If this here town can't take that down",
she sneered to the cowering whores,
"There's one little cunt that can do the stunt,
and it's Eskimo Nell's, not yours."
She shed her garments one by one
with an air of conscious pride,
Till at last she stood in her womanhood,
and they saw the Great Divide.
It's fair to state it was not so great,
but it had a solid rim;
Viewed from without, it left no doubt
of the tensile strength within.
She seated herself on a table top,
where someone had left a glass.
With a twitch of her tits, she crushed it to bits
with the cheeks of her muscular arse.
She flexed her knees with supple ease
and spread her legs apart;
With a final nod to the randy sod,
she gave him the cue to start.
But Dick he knew a trick or two
and meant to save his powers,
For if he'd a mind he could stand the grind
for a couple of fucking hours.
So Deadeye Dick with his king of a prick
prepared to take his time,
For a miss like this was fucking bliss,
so he staged a pantomime.
He winked his arsehole in and out,
and make his balls inflate
Until they looked like granite knobs
on top of a garden gate.
He rubbed his foreskin up and down;
his knob increased in size;
His mighty prick grew twice as thick
and almost reached his eyes.
He polished the rod with rum and gob
to make it steaming hot,
And to finish the job he sprinkled the knob
with a cayenne pepper pot.
Then neither did he take a run,
nor did he take a leap,
Nor did he stoop, but made a swoop
and a steady forward creep.
He took his sight as a gunman might
along that fearsome tool,
And the dead-slow glide as it slid inside
was calculating, cool.
Have you seen the massive pistons
on the giant CPR
with the driving force of a thousand horse?
Well, you know what pistons are,
Or you think you do, if you've yet to view
the power that drives that prick
Or the work that's done on a nonstop run
by a man like Deadeye Dick.
But Eskimo Nell was an infidel,
as good as a whole harem,
With the strength of ten in her abdomen
and her rock-of-ages beam.
Amidships she could stand the rush
like the flush of a water-closet,
And she grasped his cock like the Chatwood lock
on the National Safe Deposit.
She lay for a while with a subtle smile,
the grip of her cunt grew keener;
Then giving a sigh she sucked him dry
with the ease of a vacuum cleaner.
She performed this feat in a way so neat
as to set at complete defiance
The primary cause and the basic laws
that govern sexual science.
She calmly rode through the phallic code
that for years had stood the test:
The accepted rules of established schools
in a second or two went west.
And so, my friend, we approach the end
of this copulative epic:
The effect on Dick was sudden and quick
and akin to anesthetic.
He slipped to the floor and knew no more,
his passions extinct and dead.
He didn't shout as his tool fell out;
it was fairly stripped of its thread.
Then Mexico Pete he sprang to his feet
to avenge his pal's affront;
With a jarring jolt of his blue-nosed Colt,
he rammed it up her cunt.
He shoved it hard to the trigger guard
and fired two times three,
But to his surprise she rolled her eyes
and sighed in ecstasy.
Said Eskimo Nell, "You've rung my bell;
I'm ready to explode.
Oh Pete, my sweet, can you repeat?"
Said he, "I've shot my load".
She rose to her feet with a smile so sweet,
and "Bully", she said, "for you,
Though I might have guessed that would be the best
you Yankee simps could do.
When next your friend and you intend
to sally forth for fun,
Get Deadeye Dick a sugar stick
and buy yourself a bun.
I thought you jerks could give me the works",
she said in accents cool,
"But I guess I must go to the land of snow
to find a man with a tool.
I'm going forth to the frozen north,
where the pricks are hard and strong,
That is the land of the all-night stand --
and the nights are six months long!
It's hard as tin when you stick it in
in the land where spunk is spunk:
Not a trickling stream of lukewarm cream,
but a solid frozen chunk.
That is the land where they understand
what it means to copulate,
Where even the dead sleep two in a bed
and the infants masturbate.
Yes, I'm going forth to the frozen north,
where a whore can do no wrong,
Where the Arctic blizzard sticks deep in your gizzard
like fourteen inches of dong,
Back again to where men are men,
to the Terra Bollicum.
It's there I'll spend my worthy end,
for the north is calling "Come!"
So Deadeye Dick and Mexico Pete
slunk out from the Rio Grande,
Deadeye Dick with his nackered prick,
and Pete with no gun in his hand.
But in the land of the grinding gland,
where the walrus plays with his prong,
Where the polar bear wanks off in his lair,
that's where they'll sing this song.
They'll tell this tale on the Arctic trail
where the nights are sixty below,
Where it's so damn cold, French letters are sold
wrapped up in a ball of snow.
In the Valley of Death, with bated breath,
it's there they'll sing it too,
Where the skeletons rattle in sexual battle
and the moldering corpses screw.