In fourteen hundred and ninety-two
A man whose name was Chris
Stood by the Trevi fountain
Indulging in a piss.
CHORUS:
His balls they were so round-o
His cock hung to the ground-o
That fornicating, copulating
son-of-a-bitch Columbo.
Along did come the Queen of Spain
And glimpsing there his dong,
Forthwith was smitten with desire
And knew not right from wrong.
"Oh, Isabelle," Columbo said,
A-waving of his balls,
"The world is round as these are,
I feel that duty calls."
"Just wait a bit," said Isabella.
"And don't forget essentials,
For I've a mind to have a grind
And check on your credentials."
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She gave her guest no time for rest,
The pace was fairly killing,
With legs apart he gave the tart
A cream and cherry filling.
For forty days and forty nights
He sailed the broad Atlantic,
Columbo and his scurvy crew
For want of a screw were frantic.
And when they got to Yankee land
They spied a Yankee harlot
When they came her c*** was lilly-white
When they left her c*** was scarlet.
With lustful shout they ran about
And practiced copulation
And when they left to sail away
They doubled the population.
And when his men pulled out again,
And reckoned all their score up,
They'd caught a pox from every box
That syphilized all Europe.
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