Lady's bransle filk
Who wrote this?
And She will bring the bugs in the spring,
And laugh when she's deflowered;
In summer's heat, she'll bring you a treat,
And you'll be disembowled.
She rots the cane and spreads ptomain,
when fruits of fall displease her,
The moon and sun both turn their buns,
In vain attemps to please her.