Sitting around on a lazy Sunday afternoon, sipping a few wines, the family had time to make up a few limericks… we really should find something else to do on Sundays.
There once was a man called Tomas,
Who ate way to much hommus,
Then one day he lost his way
And now he can’t keep a promise
There once was a man called Chris,
Who everyone use to called Miss,
Until one day he turned out to be gay,
And that’s why he sat down to piss.
There was a young man from Leeds,
Who swallowed a packet of seeds.
Great tufts of grass shot out of his arse,
And his wiily was covered in weeds.
There once was a boy called Craig,
His memory was very vauge
His father said son, you’re a hell of a gun,
But I don’t think you’ll ever bet laid.
There is a Gregory P,
Who’s limericks suit to a “t”
Some may think ’tis class
But it might be just arse
And he still hasn’t written one for me
There once was a man called Andrew,
Who always had a smelly sandshoe.
He had mould on his toes and was strong on the nose
And bathtime was always overdue
There once was a boy called Greg,
His head resembled an egg,
He liked sheep, But they’d often weep,
Coz they thought he was Cleg