Озорные стихи

Сергей Есенин

* * *

Ветер веет с юга
И луна взошла,
Что же ты, блядюга,
Ночью не пришла?
Не пришла ты ночью,
Не явилась днем.
Думаешь мы дрочим?
Нет! Других ебем.

* * *

Не тужи, дорогой, и не ахай,
Жизнь держи, как коня, за узду,
Посылай всех и каждого на хуй,
Чтоб тебя не послали в пизду!

Владимир Маяковский

КТО ЕСТЬ БЛЯДИ

Не те
·············­бляди,
что хлеба
···················ради
спереди
··················­и сзади
дают нам
·····················ебти,
·································Бог их прости?
А те бляди —
································лгущие,
деньги
··················сосущие,
еть
·········не дающие —
вот бляди
·······················сущие,
··········································мать их ети!

ГИМН ОНАНИСТОВ

Мы,
··········онанисты
······························ребята
···········································плечисты!
Нас
··········не заманишь
·····································титькой
······················································мясистой!
Не
········совратишь нас
·····································пиздовою
··························································плевой!
Кончил
··················правой,
··································работай
···················································левой!

* * *

Нам ебля нужна
·································как китайцам
···························································рис.
Не надоест хую
·······························радиомачтой топорщиться!
В обе дырки
························гляди —
······································не поймай
·························································сифилис.
А то будешь
··························перед врачами
·······················································корчиться!

* * *

Эй, онанисты,
······························кричите «Ура!» —
машина ебли
···························налажена,
к вашим услугам
·································любая дыра,
вплоть
···············до замочной
·······································скважины!

* * *

Лежу
················на чужой
··································жене,
потолок
···················прилипает
·············································к жопе,
но мы не ропщем —
······································делаем коммунистов,
назло
···············буржуазной
··········································Европе!
Пусть хуй
························мой
··································как мачта
······················································топорщится!
Мне все равно
·································кто подо мной —
жена министра
··································или уборщица!

Алеша Добряков