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That hole that you’re exploring is a wholly different breed
Be careful as you drill it, please approach it daintily
(For while it may be just one of seven billion it’s rather precious to me)
Beatles touched upon the subject when they filled the Albert Hall
And many have come close to the bullseye when on their butts they fall
But it’s tender and it’s virgin (Save for a couple of fingerings)
And you’re making me feel nervous with your digital circling

I know you do this often, it’s a service for which you’re paid
But don’t let my tranquil demeanor mislead you to thinking I’m feeling staid
Because though I’ve done some exploration of the oil drilling type
I’ve never thought of my single brown eye as something to pluck because it’s ripe
We all know sauce for the goose is dandy for the gander
But this fascination with my butt-hole demonstrates a bit too much candor

You’re giving me instructions telling me exactly what to do
Whispering, “Roll onto your side and bring your knees up to you.”
Not certain that this station is place I wish to have filled up
(Though many times in that neighborhood I hungrily have supped)
Now it’s just a little pressure, not more than ten atmospheres
“It’ll be over in a minute,” is the last thing that I hear
Not certain if I passed out or was that a Ruffie that I ate?
Either way I must be going as the hour’s getting late

I still feel a little woozy so you tell me, “Just lie still.”
(The lubrication that you’ve used did help some with good will!)
Chivalrously you hand me Kleenex and tell me, “Wipe my hole.”
I ask you for a cigarette and you tell me I’m quite droll
“Stop at receptionists desk on your way out the door,”
Said my darling doctor as she strolled across the floor
“I’ll see you in six months, until then you should be fine.”
I just sat there all alone wondering what my tests they might find.

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