By 29 year old Steve
When You're Thirty
When you're thirty and it's floppy
And it's droopy and it's droppy
You drink tea that's very sugared
Because your sex life is totally buggered.
Your mind is set now on other things
Like monks' robes and bells that ring
That remind you of a higher place
Than screwing birds ('cos you can't) and getting off yer face!
Well, fast approaches that monastic time.
Bang! There goes twenty nine!
Sex is for real men, but I don't want it - it's dirty.
Isn't it strange - The Buddha was enlightened at thirty?
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.
I Wish I Was A Woman
Well, I wish I was a woman,
A woman just like you!
Why, think of all the things
I would do.
I could dream all day about
My empties getting filled
And go with my friends
To the Townswomen's Guild.
I could drink my beer
In half pint jars
And go shopping with you
Looking for bras.
Why, I wish I was a lady,
Just like you.
I'm telling you all the things
I would do.
I'd two-time boys,
Play with sex toys.
I'd get pregnant, eat out on a binge
And I'd have fun at night playing with my minge.
You're probably wishing I would give it a rest
But I can't help thinking about the size of my breasts.
My tits would be large, larger than yours,
And I'd have a reputation as a right old whore.
But if any bearded cunt declared my breasts to be pert
He would surely find out how much they can hurt.
Why, I'd sandwich his head between my knockers
And make him eat my knickerbockers.
No more would he call me titch
He'll soon find out I'm a right bitch.
So when you're poking your coal sat on the loo
Think well of me - I'm poking mine too!
Steve, Oh Steve
Oh Steve, oh Steve,
Do not leave
And go upstairs
With your lice filled hair.
Don't you know, man,
You are a woman?
You're a brazen hussy
With a moistened pussy.
So get your knickers on
And don your bra.
The men will admire you
And take you to a bar.
Oh, Steve you may be thirty
Oh, Steve you may be floppy,
But you wouldn't have that problem
If you had a sex change and changed your name to Poppy.
Forget your last shag
As a man, it's so obscene.
Women have more nerve-endings in their bits
Than any man has ever seen.
I don't mean for you to feel distress
But we'd like to see you in a dress,
Some lipstick and some fishnet tights,
A silent wanderer of the night.
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