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About This Poem
Poor Peter
Poor little Peter
Liked pulling his pork
His tiny member
Was small like a cork
He kept on pulling
In hopes it would swell
He whacked it so much
It rang like a bell
Nothing he would do
Would increase it's size
In fact it was shrinking
Before his very eyes
He needed some help
To the doctor he went
Sure now it's bigger
But it's so badly bent
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