This is the sad tale of young Billy Cobb,
Who had a small growth at the end of his knob,
He went to the doctor, a cure to seek,
But could get no appointments till end of next week.
He washed it in Dettol and smeared it with lotion,
Downed a few brandies mixed up with some potion,
The lump didn't shrink, it just started to grow,
Billy turned off the light and saw the thing glow.
Next day it was bigger and started to itch,
He applied a hot iron then smeared it with pitch,
But soon Billy's pimple was hard as a rock,
And grew like a second head out of his cock.
Billy started to panic, he started to sweat,
A whole week had passed and it grew bigger yet,
It wasn't a chancre, a pimple or a spot,
It wasn't a flea-bite that Billy had got.
He scrubbed it with pumice, and used Germolene,
But the thing got so big it was truly obscene,
When big as a golf-ball he thought it a menace,
Till it swelled to the size of a ball used for tennis,
Billy got to the clinic, he tore his pants off,
The doc grabbed Bill's bollocks and told him to cough,
Bill coughed like a good un, like a man with TB,
The doc peered at the pimple then told Bill to pee.
Billy pee-ed in a bucket, a stream strong and sure,
Then the doc asked if he'd been with a whore.
It wasn't a pimple, or venereal disease,
And the melon-sized swelling was too big for fleas.
"I think I can help you in this situation,
I must cut off the bugger in a quick operation!
This won't take a moment, it won't hurt a bit,"
Said the doc as he got out his needlework kit.
Bill had reservations, but glanced at his swelling,
It hung from his pecker, the size of a melon -
The prick of a needle, the slash of the knife,
He'd be rid of the thing that curtailed his sex-life.
A quick jab of novocaine made Bill's dick numb,
He watched the doc's scalpel, by now he felt glum;
A flick of the wrist and Bill's manhood was sliced,
He near fainted in horror at watching the knife.
Another quick swipe and heard the lump drop,
On to the floor with a wet squishy plop;
Like an over-ripe plum it collapsed with a 'splat',
And looked like some liver dropped onto the mat.
The doc stitched him up and Bill went home again,
With his pecker all bandaged and pills for the pain,
When he went to the bathroom, poor Bill almost cried,
Piss came gushing out through a hole in the side!
With his thumb on the hole, Billy resumed his pee,
But the damn stuff came out from a hole underneath.
So with thumb and forefinger and some agitation,
He tried again and found more perforations.
Now Bill had eight fingers and of thumbs he had two,
And all soon stopped holes, just like playing a flute,
His piss sprayed out sideways, from above and below,
And his dick had more holes than a lawn-sprinkler hose.
He went back to the clinic in woe and despair,
Every time that he piddled, it went everywhere;
The doc scratched his head and thought long and hard,
Then handed to Billy a small business card.
"A specialist doctor?" asked Billy in hope,
But soon looked forlorn when the doctor said, "Nope,
"But a good friend of mine, your tale I've told him,
He's a piccolo player and you'll learn how to hold it!"
Now over the years, Billy's pecker was mended,
And Billy Cobb thought that his troubles were ended,
But still he had trouble whenever he piddled,
It sputtered and dripped and constantly dribbled.
But Bill was resourceful and found that dried peas,
Would stop up the flow then be shot out at need,
So he stuffed a dried pea in the hole at the tip,
To stop the piss dripping all day from his dick.
When he needed to go, the pea shot out with such force,
It bounced out the urinal and off of three walls,
A good head of pressure, the pea was ejected,
A simple solution, so quickly effected.
Till one fateful day, when Bill's luck ran out,
The dried pea got stuck firm in Billy Cobb's spout,
The pea germinated, it sent out some roots,
Then out of Bill's pecker it sent a few shoots,
So all you dribblers, think of poor Billy Cobb,
Who just needed a pee and now has a pea-pod;
And now the tale's ended, I give you this plea:
Just think of poor Billy when you 'go for a pee!'