Horizontally challenged, that was old Stan,
But always so cheerful, a stoical man.
Said his wife Edna, “He’s an amicable bloke,
But with only three inches, well, there ain’t much to stroke!”
But Stan had his talents, for his missus to share,
He wasn’t huge, true, but she didn’t care.
Said Edna, “I shouldn’t complain about my old man,
He’s a husband, a father, who does what he can.
What goes on in private, well, that’s ‘twixt him and me,
‘Taint for others to comment, but there’s plenty to see.
“When Stan gets his kit off, what a formidable gut!
His arms are like missiles, his hair it stays put.
His legs, they’re like pistons with muscles of brass,
So, he’s likely as not to fall flat on his arse.
“But he’s fathered four young ‘uns, despite what he’s lacking,
If anyone insults him, well, I’ll send ‘em packing!
Stan is one of a kind, a protected species,
Though he’s got a dodgy heart, cancer and diabetes.
“And he’s always the first to buy friends a beer,
As he leans on his stick, he won’t fall, never fear.
But he’s a cheerful fellah, in and of that,
A chatty guy too, one for chewing the fat,
And so kind to animals, he’d never kill a cat.
“So, Stan, he does more, despite having less,
But he needs a good haircut, his Barnet’s a mess!
The nicest fellah you’d ever hope to meet,
It’s not Stan’s fault he’s got such tiny feet!”