Bertie was a troubled boy, and in need of correction,
Because he was disposed to have an unconcealed erection.
The vicar hid his children’s eyes, the nuns they blushed quite red,
And Father Flynn, from Magdalynn, said come and try my bed.
His mother beat her scraggy breast; I could have had a stoner,
Instead I’m lumbered with this kid who can’t control his boner.
They took him to the doctor and they took him to a shrink,
But all they had to offer was cold water from the sink,
The girls at school all giggled, and said, well, mighty me,
If we think he fancies us we just have to look and see.
It was a sad existence, which Bertie chose to end,
And jumped into the river, just by the factory bend.
They buried him in the churchyard, beneath an unmarked stone,
And mothers warned their little boys, you must control your bone.