156.  POOR LITTLE ANGELINE
Melody--???

She was sweet sixteen and the village queen,
Pure and innocent was Angeline,
A virgin still, never known a thrill,
Poor little Angeline.

At the village fair, the Squire was there,
Masturbating in the middle of the square,
When he chanced to see the dainty knee,
Of poor little Angeline.

Now the village squire had a low desire,
To be the biggest bastard in the whole damn shire,
He had set his heart on the vital part,
Of poor little Angeline.

As she lifted her skirt to avoid the dirt,
She slipped in the puddle of the squire's last squirt,
And his knob grew raw at the sight he saw,
Of poor little Angeline.

So he raised his hat and said, "Miss, your cat,
Has been run over and is squashed quite flat,
But my car is in the square and I'll take you there,
Oh dear little Angeline."

Now the filthy old turd should have got the bird,
Instead she followed him without a word,
And as they drove away, you could hear them say,
Poor little Angeline.

They had not gone far when he stopped his car,
And took little Angeline into a bar,
Where he filled her with gin, just to make her sin,
Poor little Angeline.

When he'd oiled her well, her took her to a dell,
And there he gave her merry hell,
And he tried his luck with a low-down fuck,
On poor little Angeline. 

With a cry of "Rape," he raised his cape,
Poor little Angeline had no escape,
Now it's time someone came to save the name,
Of poor little Angeline.

Now the village blacksmith was brave and bold,
And he'd loved little Angeline for years untold,
And he vowed he'd be true, whatever she'd do,
To poor little Angeline.

But sad to say, that very same day,
The blacksmith had gone to jail to stay,
For coming in his pants at the local dance,
With poor little Angeline.

Now the window of his cell overlooked the dell,
Where the squire was giving poor Angeline hell,
As she lay on the grass he recognized the ass,
Of poor little Angeline.

Now he got such a start that he let out a fart,
Which blew the prison bars wide apart,
And he ran like shit lest the squire should split,
His poor little Angeline.

When he got to that spot and saw what was what,
He tied the villain's penis in a granny knot,
As he lay on his guts he was kicked in the nuts,
By poor little Angeline.

"Oh blacksmith true, I love you, I do,
And I can tell by your trousers that you love me, too,
Here I am undressed, come and do your best,"
Cried poor little Angeline.

Now it won't take long to finish this song,
For the blacksmith had a penis over one foot long,
And his phallic charm was as brawny as his arm,
Happy little Angeline.

From Paul Woodford, "Hash Hymns II" (Honolulu, Hawaii, 1994)