(OJ Note: Burt Jones’ Ballad was, mildly, inspired by the bawdy bards of the Chaucer age. It will be featured in the forthcoming Filmic Cuts 4: Title Pending. Hope you enjoy.)

Gather round dear listeners, let me tell you a tale

Of a man whose reputation stretches from yard to vale

He is more than a man, of heart and flesh and bones

I talk, of course, of Burt “Thundercock” Jones

Now, ye, that nickname is one of great crudeness

Suggesting a being of vileness and rudeness

But sometimes the cover doth not represent the book

For a man named “Thundercock” is deserving of a look

 –

For humble Burt Jones was an ordinary fella

Working in dear Grimpton as a vassery seller

He had no dreams, ambition or drive

For young Burt Jones only wished to survive

 –

He was no lover, no rebel nor drinker

Burt did not desire to read, he was not a thinker

For Burt was just a man, who went along his way

Until, my dear friends, of a certain fateful day

 –

You see, old Grimpton, was a quiet old place

Where you could walk around and know every face

So when a rabble arrived, and caused quite a ruck

The people of Grimpton were to run out of luck

 –

These kids, with their toys, were a vile menagerie

From fouling the paths to burning a tree

They had no control, nor wont of behaviour

They desired carnage, be it slim or even shadier

 –

Late on their arrival they entered The Barn

A public drinking place full of many a yarn

Their leader, a tyke, with teeth out of place

Demanded many drinks, all up in your face

 –

“We want beers, and whiskeys and cider”

The bastard shouted, his throng growing wider

“Your women are ours, we’ll have their arses!”

This caused many locals to slam down their glasses

 –

But no-one stepped up, the youths were savage

The fear that they’d turn and you they’d ravage

With spite the kids mocked, threatening folks homes

And then, naturally, in stepped Burt Jones

 –

“Who’s this wanker?” One kiddie cried out

Pointing his finger and giving a pout

Burt was confused, he’d never known trouble

Quiet was his world, not like this rabble

 –

The gang took exception, messed him around

But Burt didn’t react, didn’t make a sound

This enraged them more, boiling their blood

One threw a fist, landing with a THUD!

 –

Everybody gasped, as Burt fell hurt

Down to the floor, the horrible dirt

And the kids did laugh, mocking like a bully

Little did they know that this, this was folly

 –

The room was still as Burt rose from the ground

His tormenters cared not, and turned right around

They did not see as Burt puffed his chest out

They did not care to hear as he shouted out

 –

“You boys better leave, or bad things’ll happen”

The shits, as they were, threatened to slap ‘im

As one spun around, raising his finger with a flick

Burt thrust his groin forward with the power of his dick

Before anyone spoke there was a bright flash

and the kid was flown back with an almighty crash

Another turned to see Burt’s wonder

And got hit with a hard feeling of thunder

Each one fell, limp and with a throb

As Burt assaulted them with his powerful knob

They whimpered and cried and begged for mercy

But Burt, simple Burt, wouldn’t give ’em the courtesy

He threw his groin forward, each time with aplomb

Each blast from it hitting the kids like a bomb

Before long they were destroyed, flooded in tears

And some of the patrons had, gasp, spilt their beers!

As the ruffians ran off, never to return

The locals looked at Burt, and wanted to learn

What was this power, that disposed of the thugs

But Burt didn’t speak, just replied with shrugs

The legend was born, there was no turning back

Burt’s penis had the power of an almighty whack

His genitals were blessed with a fearsome ferocity

Which naturally led to much sexual curiosity

The ladies doth wooed him, and Burt obliged in kind

Each visitor to his boudoir was blown of mind

When asked in quiet, what his cock was like

No lady could answer, they were high as a kite

He was now the guardian of this little village

A place that no criminal would wish to pillage

Grimpton was peaceful, until one July

When a fancy limo drove in and stopped by

Inside was a man, suited and booted

What did he do? Big business was mooted

His name was Dirk, not the name he was born

For you see, Big Dirk was a man of porn

He’d heard of Burt, and his penile powers

From blasting bad guys, to sexing for hours

Dirk had a plan, to make Burt some money

It was nothing dodgy though, nothing too funny

“Burt, let me be blunt, we need your stuff”

Dirk told our hero, showing no bluff

“You’re a special man, you’d be a star!”

Burt was impressed, and got in the car

After some months, Burt’s films came out

Where he’d make sexy ladies scream and shout

He changed it all, with his powerful wang

His career exploded! He acted, screwed and sang

Burt “Thundercock” Jones, his moniker in place

He was the biggest man, in time and space

The industries loved him, he began to do it all

There was no job too big for him, no task too small

As time passed though, so did life itself

As Burt aged more he was put on the shelf

Did he moan about this? Kick up a fuss?

Course not dear friends, he just got on the bus.

His money was made, his pleasures were sate

He had fulfilled this destiny, this eventual fate

What more to do, than to go home and rest

For when it came to dicks, Burt was the best

Recall, if you will, he was also quite humble

The rest of his years, he did not grumble

He took up hobbies, helped out the people

Hell, his mighty dick helped build that steeple

Eventually though, everything ends

And so does this story, my dear little friends

What happened to Burt? Well I can’t really say

Is he alive? Does he thrust to this day?

Well leave it at this, for you to ponder

Something to think as you trail off and wander

Next time you see a bright flash in the night

See if you can hear a lass scream in delight.

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