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There once was a Frenchman named Manny.
He was clever, conceited, and canny.
His tastes they were rare,
But in private he’d swear
That he loved his wife Brigitte’s old fanny.

He would say: “Though it’s weathered and wrinkled,
And with liver-spots it’s sparsely sprinkled,
I find the firm booties
Of much younger cuties
Too smooth – I prefer creased and crinkled.”

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