Author of the gate unknown

Under the bridge in front of the gate, a flock of chickens walked by,

laid down on the day of the day, one, four, five, six, seven,

the gun shallow and deep, the black dragon playing in the white water,

from day to night, eagerly consuming the chickens.

The old man pushing the cart, his big penis long and leisurely,

thrusting into the chickens of his hometown, the dragon soaring and the tiger leaping,

the little pussy, the little pussy, turning over and over,

the eighteen styles of vigorous intercourse, each one practicing in turn.

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Author of the gate unknown

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