THE RAPE OF PETER O'BRIEN
THE RAPE OF PETER O'BRIENPeter O'Brien of Ireland was a funny sort of lad
He was still a virgin and this it made him glad
No girl had ever touched him to take his cherry away
Until the day that he was raped down at Micken's Bay
He was working at the fish plant, his shirt he did take off
All his muscles were loved by girls, but all the guys did scoff
He made the girls so horny they couldn't take it anymore
So they held him down and, one by one, they made good Peter a whore
He had never before experienced the thrills that one could get
But then he did it all the time, he'd developed a taste for it
There was no position he didn't try, no woman he wouldn't do
The number of kids he fathered was one hundred thousand and two
More than ten got pregnant down at that plant first day
Micken's growth tripled first year his cherry went away
He's the father of our city and girls come from all around
Just for Peter to do them in the grass or on the ground
Peter never seemed to get enough, he always wanted more
He liked to do it and do it he did, but soon it did get sore
His strength began to fail and soon he did die
There wasn't a woman in the land who can say she did not cry
Peter he has been buried and on his headstone does read
Here lies the greatest lover, the rabbit of his breed
He's laid more women in his life than most men have ever seen
Except the only one he want, the busty, young Colleen
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