Gone To Seed
I hate it when my vulva slips
So I wear a tidy on my lips.
It often makes me squeal and shout,
But it stops my cunt from bursting out.
It hurts but keeps it nice and neat,
I like my twat to be discreet,
So if your flaps have gone to seed
A Cuntlip Tidy is what you need.
The Old Lady In The Well
There was an old lady who lived in a well.
In it she'd fell
Whilst ringing the bell.
The unfortunate lady was nick-named Old Nell.
It must have been Hell
And boy did she smell.
She lived there alone and she dined on green mold,
Or so I am told,
Until she grew old.
She shivered and quivered and shook with the cold,
But Nell she was bold
With a strong heart of gold.
She stayed in the well for a long time, you see.
She was 103
When finally free.
A man heard her singing whilst chopping a tree.
Oh what could that be?
Thought carefully, did he.
He went off for help and came back with 6 men.
Thomas and Ken,
Johnny, Dick, Paul and Ben.
They all stood there quiet and listened 'til when
They heard it again!
Oh what to do then?
They hunted around for some rope or some string.
They could still hear her sing,
But there wasn't a thing,
And then Thomas saw it Ė an old child's rope swing!
Down the well they did fling,
A seat fit for a King.
Old Nell saw it land and was shocked at the sight.
Could this be right?
It gave her a fright.
But soon this gave way to great mirth and delight!
An end to her plight!
She was high as a kite.
She sat on the swing and the men they did heave her.
They couldn't just leave her,
She might catch a fever.
But the rope on the swing had been chewed by a beaver!
And chopped up with a cleaver
That belonged to a weaver.
And soon it had snapped and poor Nell she did fall.
She clutched at the wall.
The men heard her faint call.
"Oh what shall we do now?" said Thomas to Paul,
"Let's grab her shawl!
And on that we can haul!"
So they reached far below and just managed to catch it!
And they lowered a branch bit
And did carefully attach it.
They did try not to tear, though she said she could patch it,
And soon she was out Ė
And she smelt worse than cat shit!
She stood on the ground and blinked up at the sun.
"We've done it! We've won!"
Then they all went off home for some tea and a bun,
And now I am done,
Wasn't that fun?
Oh how I hate those pesky prols,
You see around the town,
With sunken eyes and slicked back hair,
They really bring me down.
Oh how I hate their rancid clothes,
Of fabric cheap and nasty,
Their scabby mouths clamped firmly round,
A Greggs or Ainsley's pasty.
I so despise their toneless drawl,
Their stupid thicky voices,
I wish a thousand richer folk,
Would squash them with Rolls Royces.
I hate their rubbish base-ball caps,
Their constant beeping phones,
I wish they would just stay inside,
Their box-like square brown homes.
I hate the way they look as though,
Their lives are somehow hard,
When all they do is sit at home,
With chips they've fried in lard.
I hate the way they moan about,
Estates that are like ghettos,
The way they all smoke Superkings,
And hang around in Netto's.
I hate their toothless, sunken heads,
Their snotty, dirty babies,
I'd like to hug their lifeless kids,
But I'm afraid I might catch rabies.
I hate the way they leave their cars,
Outside their homes on bricks,
And hang around in towny bars,
Comparing size of pricks.
They give us litter, disease and crime,
They fill our streets with misery,
I'd magic them all far away,
If I was good at wizardry.
The filthy prols, those wretched beasts,
They get right up my ass,
Why can't we drop a fuck-off bomb,
Upon the working class?
On being asked to be Best Man at a friend's wedding, Mike commissioned Kate to help out with the speech.
Best Man's Speech To Simon
Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys,
If I might have a moment without too much noise,
I have a few words I would quite like to share,
So please just shut up, and remain in your chair.
Now as you all know I am Simonís best man,
Iím not quite sure why, but Iíll do what I can,
I can only assume that his friends are quite sparse,
Well, thereís Ian I guess, but then heís just an arse.
So here we are gathered on this wondrous day,
Iíve thought long and hard about what I should say,
But failing to come up with some words from my head,
I paid a crap web site to do it instead.
So here is my speech, and it shouldnít last long,
They charge by the word at poemfactory.com.
Iím skint at the mo so Iím keeping this swift
(As you can probably tell by my gift).
So Simon and Nicky are why we are here,
Eating posh food and enjoying free beer,
For never a couple have been quite so great,
Excuse me one moment while I just fill my plate.
The wedding was lovely, Iím sure youíll agree,
A marvellous day out, and all of it free,
And you all look divine, as I glance round the room,
Itís just a shame that we canít tell the bride from the groom.
So let me now say a few words about Si,
Iíve known him for years, heís a hell of a guy,
A real manís man, he is honest and strong,
Well, a hundred or so women just canít be wrong,
For that is how many this great man has laid,
(They might not be wrong, but they were probably paid).
But that has all changed, he is married at last,
And, at least for today, that is all in the past.
Heís left behind all of those mad days of youth,
Wine women and songÖ Yeah, ok, now the truth:
Heís dumped all the porn mags from under his bed,
Sold his games console and bought curtains instead,
His Cardiacs C.D.s are all given away,
Or swapped for some Dido and some David Gray,
Heís taken down all of his pictures of Spock,
His new bride insisted, for the good of hisÖ health.
So that was my speech and itís cost me a packet,
In just two quick ticks you can resume your racket,
And loudly enjoy what is left of the day,
As frankly I have nothing else left to say,
You might as well drink up or go on the pull,
ĎCause between me and you, the groomís really quite dull,
And before you can blink we will meet here once more,
At his wifeís divorce bash, when sheís dumped the sad bore.
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