Mary had a little lamb.
She fed it kerosene.
The little lamb sat near a fire,
Since then its not benzene.
A pun is the lowest form of wit,
It does not tax the brain a bit;
One merely takes a word that’s plain
And picks one out that sounds the same.
Perhaps some letter may be changed
Or others slightly disarranged,
This to the meaning gives a twist,
Which much delights the humorist.
A sample now may help to show
The way a good pun ought to go:
It isn’t the cough, that carries you off,
It’s the coffin they carry you off in.”
If you wash your dishes with Pride
Or Joy and the water you’ve tried
To dump on the beach
I’m really should teach
You… Detergent’s not fit to be tide
My dog wanted some sort of treat
But I was just fresh out of meat
With leftover chops
His whimpering stops
I told the mutt, “Bone appétit”
Any yard work, to me, is not play.
To my wife words of praise I did say:
“When you’re out cutting grass,
You’re my favorite lass,
And I lawn for you mower each day.”
An old Catholic priest, Father Blass
Dealt a message both condemning and crass
His sermon was loaded
And it finally exploded
When flock had reached critical mass
There was a young lady called Bright
Whose speed was far faster than light
She went out one day
In the relative way
And returned the previous night
Mary had a little lamb
She tied it to a pylon
10,000 volts shot up it’s arse
and turned it’s fleece to nylon
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Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With sulver bells, and cockle shells,
And one $%&&^%% eggplant.
Now I lay me down to sleep,
A bag of peanuts at my feet.
If I should die before I wake,
You’ll know I died of a belly ache.