On the Naming of Dicks

There are nine billion ways to say penis,
Which is more than you’ll ever require.
You can call it your wang or your weenus.
You can call it your conical spire.

It’s a shameful confession of weakness
To admit that all dicks are the same.
So, to maintain an air of uniqueness,
Every man gives his member a name.

The name might be one of affection.
It might denote strength or solidity,
But whatever the final selection,
It goes public with breathless rapidity.

The lover will whip out his weenie
And announce to his dumbfounded mate,
“Say hi to my little Houdini!”
Or, “Shake hands with Peter the Great.”

There are those who prefer the utility
Of the ornithological bloc
And speak with becoming humility
Of a pecker, a bird, or a cock.

The patriot soldiers and sailors
Bear arms with the sword and the lance.
The dandy hires elegant tailors
And places his pride in his pants.

If a lawsuit’s an act of defiance
To right an unbearable wrong,
Then no firm’s as firm for its clients
As Putz, Tallywhacker & Schlong.

But I, when I come to seduce you,
Subscribe to the royalist school,
And therefore I now introduce you
To Sir John Thomas Roger O’Toole.