Memories of St Malo

St Malo is indeed a beauteous town,
A Breton port of very great renown;
Little me went there one lovely summer's day
And something happened which was slightly gay.

After dining well in a gourmet restaurant
I went for a walk at night as is my wont:
I wandered oe'r the ancient stony ramparts
Allowing the sea breeze to waft away the farts
Resulting from my tasty meal of steak
(preceded by a slice of paté made of hake).

Now as is well known I am very butch
And other men I usually do not touch;
I prefer to slake my lust on pretty women
(And I also enjoy the beach and going swimming).

That evening on my walk I met a nice French "lass"
Who asked (in French) if I'd like to poke her "ass"
In return for a cash payment of sixty euro
(as she was saving up to buy an antique bureau).

So I bent her over St Malo's ramparts' walls
And soon was deep in her up to my manly balls.
But when I reached to touch her fuliginous fanny
I found (O bon Dieu!) she was a pre-op trannie;
But by that time I simply had to come
Even though I was inside a young man's silky bum.

Oh, the shame of the act haunts me to this day
Because I most definitely am not gay.
Next morn at breakfast, in the hotel dining room
I read that a poor young chap had fallen to his doom:
Whilst cruising on the ramparts he had breathed his last breath
After tumbling o'er a wall, poor Pierre Le Cul had met his death.

I shall not go back to the province of Brittany
Even though it has some nice beaches and blue sea,
As it reminds me of that night of sexual shame
When I enjoyed the love that dares not speak its name.
(But at least I never paid the euros le jeune homme demanded
- which just shows life never pans out as you planned it.)