In The Land Of The Spongy Orange
Everybody Think About Me!

Everybody Think About Me!

There are certain things you simply should not
Picture in your head,
Like Pauline Quirk in her underwear,
Or the Queen and Prince Philip in bed.
Or men from a planet like Mars or the Moon,
Having a rave in your shed.
Or Esther Rantzen having a shag,
With a dwarf tossing bald man called Fred.
Or Mike in a bra with a man called Hose
On a beach in Brazil eating bread.

But certain things you kind of know,
They're plain for all to see,
Like just how nice I really am,
And how everyone should think about me!

Oh wonderful me! Fantabulous me!
What a beautious creature am I!
What better elation, than sweet contemplation
Of me, I'm so lovely You'll cry!
Just picture my face, and you'll feel your pulse race,
See my body you'll feel something squelch,
With my fabulous legs and my trim little ass,
And my tits which are like Raquel Welsh.
Just close your tired eyes,
And remember my thighs,
They're as lovely as lovely can be,
Yes why waste your time even reading this rhyme,
When you could sit there and think about me?

So put down your work stuff
And put up your feet
And give your tired brain cells
A lovely big treat,





I fell in love with a horse one day
He chewed on grass and went 'neigh neigh'
He lived in a field all green and hilly
And he had a fucking massive willy.

Although the horse was thoroughbred
It was not that that turned my head
Nor was it his mane, so long and shiny -
But that his cock was far from tiny!

Black and shiny, thick and bony,
Oh how I love my little pony,
Upon the grass on my front lawn
I fuck my horse from dusk 'til dawn.

Modern Poetry

When times were then
And men were men
A pound of ham
In Amsterdam
Upon a hill
Of dollar bills
Inside a cave
Beneath the waves
The Goddess sits
With silicone tits
She tells it like it is. It's:

"When times were then
And men were men
A pound of ham
In Amsterdam
Upon a hill
Of dollar bills
Inside a cave
Beneath the waves
They play all night
In the Ship of Shite.


Oh boaty boat
Oh boaty boat
They do not care
To give their vote
You do not have a winter coat,
Have you yet received my quote?"

(Quote 'In the land of the spongy orange the pharoah cannot climb.'
Heed this and float.)

The leaves were fall'n, the sky was black
The clouds hung down in threads,
The mermaids killed with steady hands,
And voices voices voices voices voices in their heads.

Oh boaty boat
Oh boaty boat
They do not care
To give their vote
You do not have a winter coat,
Have you yet received my quote?

Oh loathsome echo, why must you always fall behind me?

Oh boaty boat
Oh boaty boat
Are you man
Or are you goat?
You take your victims by the throat,
They don't deserve to get your vote.

Sea shore shore she sea she see-saw sore see she saw she saw sea shores

The sky was beef, the sea was gravy -
Shall I join the royal navy?
I'd wear a lot of white
Pants so tight
Feel alright
Fly a kite
Catch a bite
Say goodnight
Start a fight

The sun was red the clouds ate them

The mermaids grew legs

The sea dried up

We all sleep.

Waiting For June

What's this walking down my street?
With air-walk trainers on its feet?
Bedecked in clothes that come from Gap,
And topped with Nike baseball cap?

Another one is close behind,
And then another of its kind,
Is this just their social 'norm',
This grey and khaki uniform?

A ghastly sight seen every day,
As each one wends its woolly way,
Throughout our litter-covered streets,
Omitting little sheep-like bleats.

One face blends in to another,
Perhaps they share a common mother?
Why else would they dress like clones,
In beige and grey, all monotone?

The female ones wear black heeled boots,
And yellow highlights hide the roots,
A sleeveless jacket, grey or khaki,
For when the northern weather's parky.

Boot-cut jeans in black or navy,
Hair quite long and straight, not wavy (that was last year),
Back-packs are, on close inspection,
Bought from Gap or French Connection.

Holding hands they scream and whoop,
Never straying from the group,
(The outside world is bad and scary,
The streets are rough, the locals hairy).

It's hard to tell the males apart,
Their hair is shorter. That's a start,
And the noises they omit less shrill,
But louder and more piercing still:

"You should have seen me out last night!
Tarquin almost had a fight!
Anna was a real disgrace!
Oh God, man. I was sooo off my face."

The girls engage in their own banter,
Between neat sips of Diet Fanta,
"I don't get what this essay means
- but do you like my Kookai jeans?"

Up the hill as if for grazing,
Go the students - "Fab! Amazing!"
Past the shops and run-down streets,
They kick the litter with well-heeled feet.

But when the summer rolls around,
A kind of quiet bliss is found,
By those who don't go 'home' each year,
Remaining, uncomplaining, here.

Our children get to sleep before us,
Without the aid of a drunken chorus,
The old ones get to rest their bones,
Without the threat of flying traffic cones.

No more queuing behind some 'geezer'
As he pays for twenty pints on Visa,
Or fumbles with his Switch or Solo,
For one pint of milk and a packet of sugar-free Polos.

And at last the buses are actually stopping!
And we can get off with our bags of shopping!
Without hoards of students who stand round the door,
Despite fifty seats on the upper floor.
(Don't they have double-deckers in Hertfordshire?)

Come June it's time to whoop and cheer,
At last the summer hols are here
For three whole months they've gone away,
No more beige. And no more grey.

Hip hip hip hip hip . . . hooray.

Further Education Sucks

What a terrible perversity
Is going to university
Full of trial and adversity
What kind of silly loony
Wants to go to uni
A geek who's pale and puny
And brain washed like a moonie
So why not be more prudent
And not become a student
It's nothing but a poo cunt
Get a life instead
Of feeding useless rubbish into your head
Go to bed
Paint the town red
Change your name to Fred
Live in a shed
Be dead
But live life in elation
Bugger education
Seize control of a third world nation
Get your tits out in the train station
Don't get a B.A.
It's gay
Why read books all day
When you could go out and play
Or run around in a field pretending to be a horse and going 'neigh'
Why fill your life with dismay
Just for a future with a bit more pay
When you could be out looking for your next lay
Don't get a B.Sc.
It's boring as can be
Do nothing be like me
Be free
Sit at home watching Richard and Judy on TV
And drinking tea
Have a pea
Or a pee
Unlike education urination is free
Practice chi
Take e
There are answers don't you see
Unanswered by that Ph.D.
Don't be silly
Eat piccalilly
Make a chili
Marry a prostitute called Lily
Wear something frilly
On your willy
Just get rid of those books
Further education sucks.

March 2000

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