Aunty Rose, Aunty Rose,
How old is she? No-one knows.
Thirty Two? Thirty Nine?
All we know is she looks real fine.
Although she’s older than our Mum,
Can’t tear our eyes from off her bum.
We see her training down the gym,
But in other ways, she keeps trim.
Those lovely legs, so strong and lean,
A queue to spread them – boys so keen.
She chooses one, a lucky bloke,
Taken home, allowed to poke.
She’ll wear him out, but he’ll have fun,
A taxi called when his job’s done.
Aunty Rose, Aunty Rose,
Oh My God, how she goes!