In The Gents
I Want A Wee Wee

I Want A Wee Wee

I want a wee wee
I'm dying for a piss
I've never felt my bladder bursting
Quite as bad as this.
The strain is so unbearable
I'm writhing in my chair
I cross my legs and fidget
And I grumble in dispair.

Oh God I need a wee wee
I must go to the toilet
But here I stay to write this poem
For you; I cannot spoil it.
That's the standard you expect
From a professional such as me.
I put my readers way before
My need to have a pee.

Oh bloody hell, I've got to go
I cannot bear this pain.
But first I've got to end this poem
Or everything's in vain.
Wait a minute! No, that's wrong!
I know what I'll do.
I can finish off this poem
When I'm back from the loo....

Excuse me.........

Aw fuck! I didn't make it.
I went and wet my pants.
I should have gone before I started.
Now I missed my chance.
And so this poem is pointless
For I know one thing for sure.
I've realised that I don't want
A wee wee anymore.

Die Like Elvis

Die Like Elvis

Oh, let me die like Elvis -
Sitting on the bog,
A burger in my left hand
And another in my gob,
A Tennessee fine bourbon
Or a bottle of champagne,
A cocktail of narcotics
Coursing through my swollen veins.

I wish to die like Elvis,
Oh, it would be such a treat,
My bum cheeks resting firmly
On that Gracelands toilet seat,
My penis dangling in the bowl
Unhindered by erection,
My great fat hairy arsehole
Looking back on its reflection.

I've got to die like Elvis.
It's the only way to go,
Not like old Abe Lincoln
Who got shot while at the show,
Not like Jesus Christ our lord
Who bled upon the cross,
And not like Robert Maxwell
'Bout whom no one gave a toss.

Only Elvis knew the way to
Exit from his stage,
'Midst golden taps and porcelain,
Not khaki, puce or beige.
We all should die like Elvis
In style and elogence.
If I cannot die like Elvis then
I'll cark it in the Gents.

Over-Helpful Washroom Attendant

Please don't switch the taps on,
Don't pass me the soap,
Let me get the paper towel myself;
It's all I hope.
I don't want any perfume
To spray upon my skin,
And sure as fuck I won't put money
In your begging tin.

Why don't you just fuck right off
And leave me well alone?
I may be drunk but I can use
A toilet on my own.
I only want to take a piss
And wash my hands and go.
I do not need a cunt like you
To make the water flow.

Don't be nice and gracious,
And do not call me sir,
And please don't be so cheerful.
What you do is quite absurd.
Your job is crap and pointless,
So don't pretend you're happy,
And do not treat me like a babe
That needs a change of nappy.

Right, that's it. I'm done. I'm off.
I'll leave you to your duty.
I don't care how much you get
In your tin of booty.
Just in future don't involve me
In your sad career.
I'm fucking off back to the bar now
For another beer.

If anyone is interested in poetry on the subject of septic tanks, you'll find a few in here: but none of them are as good as the one I've just submitted to them...
Septic Tank

I walked along the riverbank
Joyfully as if I'd drank
Some wine or played a fiendish prank
Upon my adversary, Frank.

When all at once, my heart it sank
As I encountered something rank
And though I don't wish to be frank
I have to say it fucking stank.

For lo, it was a septic tank
And though its air was grim and dank
My loathing of it quickly shrank
And for its fumes I soon did thank.

Now some may say that I'm a crank
My monkey then I had to spank
And so my todger I did yank
And had a truly wondrous wank.

October 2002

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