Ode To Steve
I know a man, a man called Steve.
He wipes his bogeys on his sleeve,
And when his bogeys he has got
He sucks out all his runny snot,
And when his snot starts tasting bitter
Steve starts picking out his shitter.
Crusty bits he'll swallow down
Until his mouth turns autumn brown.
Yes, in his mouth is shit and snot
And crap and piss and grime and grot.
He smells like a rancid chippy
Because he is a sweaty hippy,
Ha ha ha.