I encountered a swish (predatory), In a Belgian roadside lavatory, Was subject to abuse, But have no firm excuse, Such are risks I should know a priori.
Should you survey the Isle of Man, Make a night with the harlot Roxanne, A true jane-of-all-trades, She'll your billfold invade, (But don't we all have to catch-as-snatch-can?)
The gray gypsy woman forbid, Our overseas voyage to Madrid, Had we trusted that source, Such to alter our course, From the belly of that foul, heinous squid.
Who could tell what foul fate might transpire, In the reasonable practice of Empire? But a cannibal mob, Spiked my ass (man-kebab?), On their cruel aboriginal fire.
The unfeeling Bengalese jury, Handed my sentence down with great fury, The registrar of the State, Mailed my cock (express rate), To my invalid wife in Missouri.
One summer, I conquered Australia, A true baron, in princely regalia, But can't take kindly to, That accursed kangaroo, Who would box my off-guard genitalia!