He was wanted in the Board Room
And that was all he knew
And so he arrived most promptly
At twenty-four minutes to two.
He strode up to the receptionist
(A woman with slight breasts)
Who shook her earringed head and said
"I'm sorry - first there's tests."
She grabbed the small man by the throat
And squeezed till he turned blue
And then she grabbed him by the scrote
And checked for one and two.
Sure enough he was replete
With testes by the score
For then she counted three, then six
And more and more and more
"Thirty-seven balls in all!"
The beaming man did holler
And kissed the woman on the lips
Which made her full of choler
For those lips were not upon her face
They were between her legs
Her thrush-battered vag is what he tastes
Plus the residue in her kegs.
Alas, the small man never found
His way into the Board Room
Instead the meeting was foregone
For the moists of Mary Morebroom
But Mary Morebroom was enraged
She tried to punish what he did
But failed to grab his arm, you see,
For the small man was a flid.