Bra-fill: paired parts are entered in their “rooms,”
Now hooded, the mamm-oth bazooms,
These lofting squirmers’d bloom like ’shrooms.
In there, they’re strung together.

Men would like to gawk ’em on display,
These movers, bound and filed away,
These jigglers hidden in a stay.
Mounds, no eye might glimpse up high above,
No ogling hills of tongue love.
He burns to thrill, but no!—bra fill!

Then, a chance to gawk ’em on display!
These movers, unbound, defile, yay!!
These jigglers’ lig’tures fall away.
Mounds, his eyesight glimpses high above.
So, ogling hills of lung love,
His yearns fulfilled—no more bra fill!
There’s no bra fill,
Mams, tits—no bra fill,
Bra, nil.