The Sultan of Arabia,
Where the desert sun shines hot,
Has five hundred concubines,
With sand up every twat.
The oyster it will make a perl,
From a twat all filled with sand,
But the desert concubine,
Will sandpaper your gland.
The Sultan of Arabia,
It made him sad and sore,
When sand grated as he ground,
And rubbed his pecker raw.
His five hundred concubines,
Resisted men's invasions,
For every clit was full of grit,
And gave the men abrasions.
If invited to the harem,
Of the Sultan of Arabia,
Watch the dancing girls gyrate,
And sand fall from their labia.
When in the dusty desert,
Where sun so scorching shines,
Beware of taking pleasure,
With the desert concubines.
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