Our lives have several strict laws,
Passed down from He to thee,
We follow in his footsteps,
So we may be as holy,
I’ve lived my life without your touch,
For many years and days,
Lord Jesus doesn’t ask for much,
Only that we abstain,
In a week we’ll still be pure when wed,
Then the magic underpants come off,
I’m gonna let my latter-day saints out,
And shoot them all over your womb.

She squealed,
“Enjoy your birthday, Patrick,”
As she popped right out of bed,
Picking hairs out of her pearly teeth,
After giving birthday head,
To spit out spunk that Patrick spooged,
Into a porcelain bowl,
Now you’re older!
And in bed alone,
Your female counterpart rinses off and heads away to work,
You languish for an hour more,
Then stir, and start to jerk,
There are servers in your future, friend,
To maintain with lines of code,
But that’s a ways away, you see:
Your hand continues to go,
And when you’re done, you’ll spray your shoot into the toilet too,
And as post-coitus shrinks your bone,
It’s lonely in your house, alone,
Happy Birthday to you.