Moons waxed and waned,
the lilacs bloomed and died.
In the broad river ebbed and flowed the tide.
Ships went to sea,
and ships came home from sea,
and the slow years sailed by and ceased to be.

Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can't I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?

Six days of the week it soils
With its sickening poison -
Just for paying a few bills!
That's out of proportion.

Lots of folk live on their wits:
Lecturers, lispers,
Losels, loblolly-men, louts-
They don't end as paupers;

Lots of folk live up lanes
With fires in a bucket,
Eat windfalls and tinned sardines-
they seem to like it.

Their nippers have got bare feet,
Their unspeakable wives
Are skinny as whippets - and yet
No one actually starves.

Ah, were I courageous enough
To shout Stuff your pension!
But I know, all too well, that's the stuff
That dreams are made on:

For something sufficiently toad-like
Squats in me, too;
Its hunkers are heavy as hard luck,
And cold as snow,

And will never allow me to blarney
My way of getting
The fame and the girl and the money
All at one sitting.

I don't say, one bodies the other
One's spiritual truth;
But I do say it's hard to lose either,
When you have both.

Gary Gary how come you, are such a piece of rancid poo?
Coxall Gary why is it, you are such a piece of shit?

Ging gang gooley gooley gooley watcha ging gang goo gong gang gol

Sent from my SM-G900F using Tapatalk

If I fell into the deep north sea
A mermaid for a wife it would have to be
But for sure I wouldn't kiss her
Cos she's half a woman and half a killer.

Meant. Cos she's half a woman and half a kipper

ABCD Goldfish
UCD Goldfish
ICD Goldfish
ECD Goldfish
YCD Goldfish?

Wen't something like that when I was at school. Took me years to work it out?

Poetry is for school swots and girls.

Unless it's full of swear words.

Then it's cushty

Like a Night Club in the morning, you're the bitter end.
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you're clean round the bend.
You give me the horrors
too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow's
are lousy coz of you.

You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain

You're certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here... wear this polythene bag.

You're like a dose of scabies,
I've got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale... Grimm!

People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I'd consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You've got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.

Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our smartie,
you're no use to anyone.
Like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive's face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race

You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide...
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.

You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You're heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.

Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.

What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can't find a good word for you,
but I can...
TWAT.

I must go down to the sea again
To the lonely sea and the sky
I left my vest and socks there
I wonder if they're dry.

Fukcing poems,
Are shite,
When they don't,
even rhyme.

At least go for a haiku Mr Crab

Fucking poems are shite
(Bunker ones I'm talking of)
They don't even rhyme

Ok

Five Sylabes here,
Seven more Sylabes there
are you happy now?

There was a young woman from Hever
How could pick a pencil up with her beaver


or

There was a young woman from Leeds
Who swallowed a packet of seeds
within an hour
Her arse was a flower
And her bum was a bucket of weeds

Cyril Knowles and Brian Cox
Derick Hampton's golden locks,
Brian Clough with Peter Taylor
Billy Ayre is gonna nail yer,
John's Bird, Linacre and McPhail
Big Bob Newton's gone to jail,
Dave and Andy Linighan
Gibson's Jag has gone again,
Adam Boyd plus Joel Porter
She's done well has Nobbsy's daughter,
Harold Hornsey and John Smart
Vincey Barker from Old Hart,
Kevin Johnson - Mally Moore
Coxhall's more like.... Troy McLure.

This ithread is nearly as bad as those that have grown up blokes in their 40s and 50s making up new lyrics for terrace somgs

No one likes school swots... so are you telling us you don't like girls as well....?
Hmmmmm ...there's more to this than meets the eye, you don't have to explain, we all understand

I once spent an evening with Lola or Layla
She said make me breathless I hid her inhaler
- Hovis Presley