Corn-holed Dan McGrew

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up
In one of them Yukon halls,
And the kid that handled the music box
Was stealthily scratching his balls.
The Frisco Kid has his hand on the tits
Of the lady that's known as Lou,
While there on the floor, on top of a whore,
Lay dangerous Dan McGrew.

Then out of the night that was black as a bitch
And into the din and the smoke,
Strode a rusty old prick with a crick in his dick
And a rusty old load in his poke.
His pants were spot and cover with spit
That looked like the white of an egg.
His balls hung low and swung to and fro
Whenever he moved his leg.

In his rugged old clothes he stood read to hose
Any bitch who wandered his way,
He beat on his meat, a most talented feat,
And shouted he wanted to play.
His face was as red as a baboon's ass,
And the passion within it burned.
He pulled out his dong; it was thick and was long,
And everyone's asshole squirmed.

He shouldered his way through the flea-bitten crowd,
His hand clutched the crotch of his pants,
And he looked like a man with a dose of the clap
In the last stage of St. Vitus' dance.
Then the lights went out and I dropped to the floor
As the stranger sprang in the dark.
There were sighs and moans and farts and groans
As his donicker found its mark.

The wind it blew and the shit it flew
And I looked 'about the darkened room,
And there on the floor, on top of the whore
Two forms were stacked in the gloom.
The lights came on and the stranger arose,
His cock hung limber and blue,
And there on the floor, on top of the whore,
Lay corn-holed Dan McGrew.