Udder Budder Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

A frog, with bulbous eyes and green
was in the mornings often seen
out in the barn when Farmer Fritz
was busy milking bovine tits.

One morning Fritz had kicked the bucket
and yelled a word that rhymes with locket,
he left to get, inside the house,
a new container from his spouse.

While Fritz was gone, the other bucket
was standing there, and, like a rocket,
the frog jumped in to have a drink.
He drank but soon began to sink.

In panic, he swam ever quicker,
placed great demands upon his ticker,
yet he could see (he had a brain)
that efforts might well be in vain.

He started then to feel defeated,
adrenals badly overheated,
and vertigo had gripped his head.
Deep down he knew he'd soon be dead.

He prayed for the return of Fritz
when he laid eyes on mammoth tits.
Half-conscious now, he'd never known
that Mother Nature could have grown

a set of such delicious whoppers.
I must inser here, frogs are hoppers
and do not carry real boobs,
not round, oblong or shaped like cubes.

So he, a young pubescent male
now felt a stirring in his tail.
By tail I mean the small utensil,
about the size of a short pencil

that hung below his belly button
and was the colour of fresh cotton.
Now focused on the mammaries,
his 'tail' wagged wildly near his knees.

He kept his frog eyes on the udder,
and soon the milk had turned to budder.