There's something about the Aristocracy,
With its centuries of selective breedin',
A sort of lineage driven process that
Selects wombs to sow their seed in,
(With the occasional foray into the
Lower orders in their Jurassic Park
To vary their gene pool just a little to
Stop offspring glowing in the dark.)
It's the good old select circle
That generally comes into play
When they choose a partner
To put in the family way.
It's just to safeguard continuity
By producing a proper heir
And, maybe, while they're at it,
For safety, as well produce a spare.
Oh they have their styles and standards
When they fornicate, rut and mount.
Their odd dabblings with the proletariat
Are casual and really just don't count.
A look into some family histories ,
Though many wouldn't thank it,
Would show many titles came from
Liaisons wrong side of the blanket.
Though maybe long in the past
That was fitting and just fine,
Descent from a King's Mistress
And the Royal Bloodline.
Such ingress was progress,
Helping many a young lass
To work her way upwardly
From the lower peasant class.
A pedigree like that as good
As money in the bank
Almost a guarantee of, at
Least, a minor aristocratic rank.
Nowadays we stand in the street to
Observe the latest Royal Wedding
Then treat with awe and reverence
The produce of their lawful bedding.
Then, duty seen to be done, and
To avoid their partner distress
Go off and practice their perversions
With their bit of rough as a mistress.
There's something about Aristocracy.
The inbred cream of this fine nation,
And the disdain with which they regard
The peasantry in their causal fornication.