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 Eskimo Nell
 Don't look at me that way, stranger,
 'Cause my pants ain't full of shit.
It's just this goddamned syphilis
That's eating me bit by bit
 When a man grows old and his balls grow cold,
And the tip of his dick turns blue,
And it bends in the middle like a one-string fiddle,
 He can tell you a tale or two.
When an old man ages and his syphilis rages,
 And their chancre sores turn blue;
 When he's tired of the strife of a well worn live,
 He'll tell you a tale that's true.
So pull up a chair and stand me a drink,
 And a tale to you I'll tell,
 Of Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
 And a harlot called Eskimo Nell
 I can tell you a tale of the Yukon, boys,
Where it's fifty degrees below,
And it's so bloody cold the rubbers are sold,
Wrapped up in a bundle of snow.
 Where skeletons rattle in sexual battle,
 'Neath the cold grey northern lights;
Where it's one long screw from dusk to dew,
And this goes on every night.
 Now away on that far distant ice cap,
Lived a floozy of national fame;
 From the back or the front, she'd open her cunt,
 And Eskimo Nell was her name.
 In the mining slump of eighty-one,
 Wages dropped through the floor,
 And the price of a fuck was less than a buck,
And this does not please a whore.
 When the slump hit Nell where it mattered,
 She decided to leave her stand.
To go where the pay was fair for a lay,
She went off to the Rio Grande.
 The scene now shifts to the Great Bear Lake,
 Where the cold would cut your knackers.
In a lonely shack off the beaten track,
Lived a couple of horny trackers.
 When Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
 Go forth in search of fun,
 It's Dead-Eye Dick that slings the prick,
And Mexican Pete the gun.
 When Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
 Are sore, depressed and sad,
 It's always a cunt that bears the brunt,
 But the shooting ain't so bad.
Now Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
Lived down on Dead Man's Creek,
And such was their luck, they'd had no fuck,
 For nigh on half a week.
Just a moose or two and a caribou,
 And a bison cow or so,
 And for Dead-Eye Dick with his kingly prick,
 This fucking was mightly slow.
Both these lads were ready for love,
 After working Dead Man's Creek,
For they'd had no luck in the way of a fuck
For more than half a week.
Dick pounds his cock with a huge piece of rock,
And he said, "I want to play!
It's been alsmost a week at this fucking creek,
With no cunt coming my way!
 So do or dare for this horny pair,
 Set forth for the Rio Grande,
Dead-Eye Dick and his mighty prick,
And Pete with his gun in his hand.
So Dead-Eye Dick with his mighty prick,
And Pete with his gun in his hand,
 Left Dead Man's Creek for the rest of the week,
And made for a better land.
 Hot with lust and a month's trail dust,
They set off for a drinking hole;
Two shady pricks from the fork of a creek,
 With a three-week load in their poles.
And as they blazed their noisy trail,
No man their path withstood,
 And many a bride, her husband's pride,
 A pregnant widow stood.
 By road and rail, they blazed a trail,
 In search of fuck and fun.
 And Dead-Eye Dick swung a kingly prick,
And Mexican Pete his gun.
 They blazed away on their horny way,
 No man their fire withstood.
 And many a bride who was hubby's pride
 Knew pregnant widowhood.
There's no man stands in the whole land,
 Who in fucking or shooting competes,
 With the Kingly prick of Dead-Eye Dick
 Or the gun of Mexican Pete.
 They reached the strand of the Rio Grande,
 At the height of a blazing noon,
 And to slake their thirst and do their worst,
They sought Black Mike's Saloon.
A bunch of cowhands were whooping it up
In this redneck hole in the wall;
And a comely maid standing at the bar
Was hoisting Mike's left ball.
They kicked in the doors of the local bar;
 Their faces split into grins.
Their only thought was to have some sport
With a dozen warm wet quims.
And crashing in with doors aswing,
 Both prick and gun flashed free.
 "According to sex, you bleeding wrecks,
You drink or fuck with me."
 When the swinging doors crashed against the walls,
 Those Dagos cursed their luck.
 Depending on sex, those pox-ridden wrecks,
 Were condemned to drink or fuck.
In through the doors to that den of whores,
The pair came striding in.
 Their only thought was of the sport
That they would have within.
Down on the floor, on top of a whore,
Lay horny Klondike Mick;
 Giving her one with the force of a gun,
When in walked Dead-Eye Dick
Now Dick would screw and bull caribou,
 If he couldn't find a cunt,
And if he got stuck with no whores to fuck,
Some poor queer bore the brunt.
 Dick made a pass at Klondike's ass,
But missed it just by a hair.
Klondike scowled and Dead-Eye growled,
 In a voice like a grizzly bear.
 Mike's trousers split; there were chock full of shit,
As he plopped his ass on a keg.
His ball hung low and swung to and fro,
Every time he moved his leg.
Dick's face was red as blood rushed to his head;
 And the passion within him burned.
 He pulled out his cock and displayed it about,
 And everyone's asshole squirmed.
Now they knew the fame of our hero's name,
 From the Horn to Panama.
 And with nothing worse that a muttered curse,
Those cowhands sought the bar.
For when Dick walked in to a house of sin,
 The whores all cursed their luck,
So not even a tart dared let a fart,
 When he said, "I want to fuck!"
 They'd heard of the prick of Dead-Eye Dick,
From the Maine to Panama,
And with scarcely worse that a muttered curse,
 Those cowhands sought the bar.
The women too, his habits knew,
Down on the Rio Grande,
And forty whores pulled down their drawers,
At Dead-Eye Dick's command.
 They saw the fingers of Mexican Pete,
Itch on the trigger grip,
And they didn't wait.
At a fearful rate,
Those whores began to strip.
Now Dead-Eye Dick was breathing quick,
 With lecherous snorts and grunts,
So forty asses were bared to view,
 And likewise forty cunts.
 When Dick held sway, none would gainsay,
 So bared stood forty doxies.
 Forty bared rumps and forty cunts,
 And twice that many poxies.
 Now forty asses and forty cunts,
 If you can use your wits,
And if you're slick at arithmetic,
 Makes exactly eighty teats.
 Now eighty teats are a gladsome sight,
 For a man with a raging stand.
 It may be rare in Berkeley Square,
 But not on the Rio Grande.
Now Dead-Eye Dick had fucked a few,
On the last preceding night,
 This he had done just to show his fun,
 And to whet his appetite.
 His phallic limb was in fucking trim,
As he backed and took a run.
 He made a dart at the nearest tart,
And scored a hole in one.
 He bore the whore to the sandy floor,
And there he fucked her fine.
And though she grinned, it put the wind,
 Up the other thirty-nine.
 When Dead-Eye Dick lets loose his prick,
 He's got no time to spare,
 For speed and length combined with strength,
 He fairly singes hair.
Dick backed to the door and the number one whore
 Could see in the chandeliers prism,
As he sprung through the air, his bollocks all bare,
 And sprayed her with his gism.
So Dead-Eye Dick he fucks them quick,
And flinging the first aside,
He was making a grin at the second quim,
 When the swinging doors opened wide.
He made a dart at the next spare tart,
 When into that Harlot's Hell,
Strode a gentle maid who was unafraid,
 And her name was Eskimo Nell.
 By this time Dick had got his prick,
 Well into number two,
When Eskimo Nell let out a yell,
 She bawled to him: "Hey You!"
 He gave a flick of his muscular prick,
 And the girl flew over his head,
 And he wheeled about with an angry shout;
His face and his cock were red.
 With a lustful leer, he said, "Look here,
Just get into the queue.
 I've got to mate with thirty-eight
 Before I get to you.
Our Dead-Eye Dick, he fuckes them quick,
 And as he humped another pair,
 He doubled his stroke and a tart's twat broke,
 While our Nell took a table and chair.
Dick took a fifth and then a sixth,
As quick as a coyote's wink,
 And fucked four more by the backroom door,
 While Nell got herself a drink.
 She glanced at our hero, up and down,
His looks she seemed to decry,
 With utter scorn, she glimpsed the horn,
 That rose from his hairy thigh.
 She blew the smoke from her cigarette,
 Over his steaming cod.
 So utterly beat was Mexican Pete,
He failed to do his job.
It was Eskimo Nell who broke the spell,
In accents clear and cool:
 "You cunt struck shrimp of a Yankee pimp.
You call that thing a tool?"
"If this here town can't take that down,"
She sneered to those cowering whores,
"There's one little cunt can do the stunt,
 It's Eskimo Nell's, not yours."
 Dead-Eye Dick was still breathing quick,
 With lecherous snort and grunt.
He pawed like a mule and fingered his tool
 As he thought of Nellie's cunt.
 "I've heard of tarts who like to boast,
But there's eighteen yet to be laid."
Dick fucked them all from wall to wall,
Then turned to our Eskimo maid.
 She stripped her garments one by one,
With an air of conscious pride,
And as she stood in her womanhood,
 They saw the great divide.
'Tis fair to state, 'Twas not so great
 Though its strength lay well within,
 And a better word, that's often heard,
 Would not be cunt, but quim.
No grizzly bear has so much cunt hair,
 Or dripped with so much grease,
Or had the depth as well as breadth,
 To take his tool with ease.
 Yes, it's fair to state, it was not so great,
But it had a solid rim'
Viewed from without, it left no doubt
Of the tensile strength within.
 She seated herself on a table top,
 Where someone had left his glass,
With a twitch of her teats, she crushed it to bits,
Between the cheeks of her ass.
She flexed her knees with supple ease,
 And spread her legs apart,
 With a friendly nod to the mangy sod,
She gave him the cue to start.
But Dead-Eye Dick know a trick or two,
 He meant to take his time,
 And a girl like this was fucking bliss,
So he played the pantomime.
 He flexed his asshole to and fro,
And made his balls inflate,
Until they looked like granite knobs
 On top of a garden gate.
He blew his asshole inside out,
His balls increased in size,
 His mighty prick grew twice as thick,
Till it almost reached his eyes.
He polished it up with alcohol,
And made it steaming hot.
To finish the job he sprinkled the knob,
 With a cayenne pepperpot.
 Then neither did he take a run,
Nor did he take a leap,
Nor did he stoop, but took a swoop,
And a steady forward creep.
 Black Mike's grew chill and the crowd grew still,
As Dick moved in for his plunder.
And everyone knew that this was a screw
To put Nell six feet under.
 With piercing eye, he took a sight
 Along his mighty tool,
 And the steady grin as he pushed it in,
Was calculatedly cool.
Have you seen the giant pistons
On the mighty C. P. R.,
With the driving force of a thousand horse,
Well you know what pistons are.
 Or you think you do, but you've yet to view,
 The ins and outs of the trick.
 Of the work that's done on a non-stop run,
 By a guy like Dead-Eye Dick.
None but a fool would challenge his tool;
No thinking man would doubt;
 For his fame increased as the Great High Priest
Of the ceaseless in-and-out.
But Eskimo Nell was no infidel,
As good as a whole harem,
With the strength of ten in her abdomen,
 And the rock of ages between.
 Eskimo Nell could bear things well,
With her really tough construction.
She'd the strength of ten in her abdomen,
And a paralyzing suction.
 With nary a scream, she could take the stream
Like the flush of a watercloset,
 And she gripped his cock like a patent lock,
 On the National Safe Deposit.
 But Dead-Eye Dick could not come quick,
He meant to conserve his powers,
 If he'd a mind, he'd grind and grind,
For a couple of solid hours.
Nell lay for a while with a subtle smile,
The grip of her cunt grew keener,
With a squeeze of her thigh, she sucked him dry,
 With the ease of a vacuum cleaner.
She performed this trick in a way so slick,
As to set in complete defiance,
The basic cause and primary laws,
That govern sexual science.
 She calmly rode through the phallic code,
Which for years had stood the test,
And the ancient rules of the Classic schools,
In a second or two, went West.
The harlot jeered, the whole room cheered,
 To see that harlot win.
Their bets were laid on the fearless maid,
 And her Dick-defying quim.
Now Eskimo Ness, that northern belle,
Had action quite fantastic;
Dick couldn't shout, his cock fell out;
The effect on him was drastic.
And so my friends, we come to the end
Of copulation's classic.
 The effect on Dick was sudden and quick,
 And akin to an anaesthetic.
 He fell to the floor and knew no more,
 His passions extinct and dead,
 And he did not shout as his cock fell out,
 Though 'twas stripped right down to a thread.
 That mighty dick looked like the wick
Of a worn-out tallow candle.
 The insults and jeers and calls of "Queers!"
 Were more than Pete could handle.
 Then Mexican Pete jumped to his feet,
To avenge his pal's affront,
 With jarring jolt of his blue-nosed Colt,
He rammed it up her cunt.
 He rammed it hard to the trigger guard,
And fired twice times three,
 But to his surprise, she closed her eyes,
And smiled in ecstasy.
Said Eskimo Nell, "You've rung my bell;
I'm ready to explode.
Oh Pete, my sweet, can you repeat?"
He said, "I've shot my load."
 With a smile of bliss, she blew him a kiss;
In ecstasy she sighed.
 "That pistol shot was the best of the lot;
 At last I'm satisfied.
She jumped to her feet with a smile so sweet,
"Bully," she said, "for you.
 Though I might have guessed that this was the best,
That you two poor pricks could do."
 With a gleam of her eyes and a flex of her thighs,
 And a twitch of her mighty hips,
 With barely a grunt, Nell's mighty cunt,
 Like a gun, shot back all bullets six.
Mexican Pete stepped back a pace,
Feeling a fucking fool,
While a Creole maid offered up first aid
 To Dick's disjointed tool.
Then someone coughed, all bets were off,
 And Nell reposed in bliss.
 She looked with scorn on Dick's limp horn,
 And blew Mexican Pete a kiss.
 She flexed her cunt and blew Dick's spunk
Out onto the barroom floor;
It fell in a pool like drunkard's drool,
 Beneath the doughty whore.
She rose to her feet, with a smile so sweet,
 Then "Bully!" she said, "for you!
Though I might have guessed that that was the best
 That you two poor pimps could do."
"When next," my friend, "that you intend
 To sally forth for fun,
Buy Dead-Eye Dick a sugar stick,
 And yourself an elephant gun."
"I might have known," she tole the pair,
 "You don't fit where folks are nice,
 But before we end, lets part as friends;
 Let me give you some free advice."
"So my friend, when you next intend
To go forth in search of crumpet,
Tell Dead-Eye Dick to dip his wick
 In the cunt of a local strumpet."
 I thought you jerks could give me the works,"
She said with accents cool.
"But I guess I must go to the land of snow,
To find a man with a tool."
 "I'm going back to the frozen North,
 Where the pricks are hard and strong;
Back to the land of the frozen stand,
Where the nights are six months long."
"You find more cream in a sled-dog team,
 Than in you Yankee fools.
And an Eskimo prick won't break as quick
 As your shrunken Southern tools."
 "I came forth fromt he frozen north,
 Where the pricks are hard and strong.
Where they ram it in with a savage grin,
 And grind for six months long."
 "It's hard as tin when they put it in,
 In the land where spunk is spunk,
Not a trickling stream of lukewarm cream,
But a solid frozen chunk."
"Yes, I'm going back tothe frozen North,
 Where a whore can do no wrong;
 Where the Arctic blizzard sticks in your gizzard,
Like fourteen inches of dong."
"Back to the land where they understand
What it means to fornicate,
Where even the dead sleep two in a bed,
And the babies masturbate."
 "Back to the land of the grinding gland,
 Where the walrus plays with his prong,
 Where the polar bear wanks off in his lair,
That's where they'll sing this song.
"They'll tell this tale on the Arctic trail,
 Where the nights are sixty below,
Where it's so damn cold, that the johnnies are sold,
 Wrapped up in a ball of snow."
"In the valley of death with baited breath,
That's where they'll sing it too,
Where the skeletons rattle in sexual battle,
 And the rotting corpses screw."
 Back to the land where men are men,
Terra Bellicum.
And there I'll spend my worthy end,
For the North is calling: 'Come'."
So Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
 Slunk out of the Rio Grande,
 Dead-Eye Dick with his useless prick,
And Pete with no gun in his hand.
 When a man grows old and his balls turn cold,
And the tip of his prick turns blue,
 And the hole in the middle refuses to piddle,
I'd say he was fucked, wouldn't you?
Michael Green with additions from llewtraH