Sunny Day
Mike & Kate


Mike:   Oh what a glorious sunny day
A day to be young, a day to be gay
Though I don't mean it in that way
It isn't what I meant to say
I mean it like in olden days
When people said hey-nonny-nay
And 'gay' did not mean that you'd strayed
To the other side of the king's highway.

Kate:   Mike you always have to start
Each poem in the same old way
It's always been the same, same thing
Gay gay gay gay gay gay gay
It's like you are somehow obsessed
With blokes who like it round the back
And though you claim to prefer minge
It's cocks you feel you really lack?

Mike:   Not at all, Kate, old gal,
That's not what I meant.
I used the term to mean I'm happy,
Not that I am bent.
Why not take a dictionary
And read the definition?
You'll see that other fellows' bums
Are not my prediliction.

Kate:   Oh mike thou doth protest too much
I know that you are gay
You like to feel a good hard cock
Inside you night and day
You should not be ashamed of that
It's nothing bad you know
To be a fag. A bummer boy.
A mincing, prancing homo.

Mike:   Now listen, doll, I'll say again,
A fudge packer I'm not.
And neither a shirt lifter
And I'm not inclined to bot.
Another man's back passage
Is not the place I plunge.
I simply do not do that stuff
Whether as a stone or sponge.

Kate:   You are deeply in denial mike
You need to sort that out
Your protestations are a farce
And carry zero clout
And the fact you claim to munch on flange
Just makes this whole thing dumber
Just face it mike, it's time you did
You're a gayer. You're a bummer.

Mike:   Bollocks.

I'd rather eat my excrement
Until I'm duly sick
I'd rather have my eyes gouged out
With a pointy stick.
I'd rather have my knackers smashed
With a pair of bricks
Than penetrate some geezer's arse
With my swollen dick.

Kate:   Oh! I see! You're a homophobe!
You don't like men at all!
You're a secret neo Nazi
With a swastika on your wall!
I bet you'd like to hang the gays,
From pylons by their shoes
Send black folk back to Africa
And gas a load of Jews.

Mike:   No no no no, no no no,
I'm nothing of the kind.
If other blokes like other blokes,
Then that I do not mind.
And if other girls like other girls
Then that's OK with me,
In fact, in that case, that is something
That I'd like to see.

Kate:   Aha! A closet lesbian!
I thought that might be it
I had you wrong, you do not want
To shag holes filled with shit
Instead you want to touch some tits
And fondle a vagina
Wear dungarees, go out to tea,
Down at the Y-shaped diner.

Mike:   You're really talking shit, girl.
Go get on your bike.
How the fuck can I be
A carpet munching dyke?
I have not even got a cunt
Or two lactating breasts
Instead I've got a pair of nads
And a shlong that beats the rest.

Kate:   Well I've never seen your gonads
Or your tiny shrivelled dick
Stop talking so much rubbish
My god, you make me sick
All these years I thought you were
A man, with cock and balls
But you're a lezzer with a minge, mike
I don't know you at all!

Mike:   Hold your tongue, you foulmouthed tart,
You've never spoken dumber
My bollocks are like melons
And my cock a huge cucumber.
I don't know how you have inferred
Such rubbish anyway,
When all I did was say that it's
A glorious sunny day.

Kate:   Of course, you're right. Apologies.
For that was getting silly.
You were on about the weather
Mentioned neither tit nor willy.
So let's begin again, shall we?
It IS a lovely day.
With sun, and men in tiny shorts
It's positively gay!

Mike:   It sure is, Kate, the sky is blue
The sun shines bright and clear.
The children all eat ice cream
And I might go get a beer.
Everybody is happy
As they wear their summer gear,
And you're right, those shorts are tiny,
Oo, I feel a little queer.

Kate:   Once again you've spoiled it mike
An innocent wee poem
I thought we might have cracked it
But I know where this is going
We just can't pen a lovely verse
To share with all we knows
It always ends the same old way
Offensive, smutty prose.

Mike:   It's not my fault. It's not offensive.
It's all inside your mind.
By 'queer' I just meant odd or strange,
And not the smutty kind.
My thoughts are clean and innocent,
Pure as the driven snow.
It's you that finds the lowdown filth
Everywhere you go.

Kate:   You're right, I'm very sorry
It's me who should be blamed
I just can't seem to help myself
I ought to be ashamed
My brain is filled with filth and smut
And nasty evil thoughts
It's ugly and deficient
And it's full if scabs and warts.

Mike:   Huh-huh huh-huh huh-huh
You just said 'help myself'
Is that a bit like saying
That you like to play with yourself?
And you said 'deficient' heh-heh
That sounds like 'defecate'
You really are a potty-mouth
With what you always say, Kate.

Kate:   Yes okay I must admit
I like to flick my bean
And stuff that comes out of my gob
Is very seldom clean
And yes, I'm fond of excrement
I really can't deny
I like to smear it on my face
And rub it in my eye.

Mike:   OK, you win. I have no choice.
Let's talk smut, fair enough.
Bollocks, arse, cock, wank, shag, nob,
Great big hairy muff.
Piss and shit and spunk and puke,
Massive steaming crap.
Fanny flaps and pert stiff nipples
On pendulous huge baps.

Kate:   Massive, throbbing purple cocks
Erupting with hot jism
Arses sore from fisting
In the showers of a prison
Scabs around a cunt hole
Seeping greenish yellow goo
Shitting out a kidney while you're
Sitting on the loo.

Mike:   Shitting diarrhoea
In a harlot's open gob.
A girl bound in a wicker cage
Lowered on one's throbbing nob.
A Thai girl shooting ping pong balls
With the muscles of her fanny.
Felching Wayne Rooney's sperm
From the arsehole of a granny.

Kate:   The arsehole of a granny
With it's gristle and it's jelly
Beside a dry vagina
All moth-eaten, wide and smelly
And further up, two wrinkled tits
Swing low like globs of phlegm
I bet you'd like to take your cock
And stick it between them.

Mike:   Tied across the bonnet
Of a clapped out Ford Capri
On a on a well used doggers' layby
On the A643
Is where you take the Bradford Bulls
Each week after the match
Two at a time: one up your arse
While another does your snatch.

Kate:   Down the local care home
Where the spastics all hang out
You're very often spotted
Like some horny leering lout
With your face pressed to the window
And your hands around your cock
You wank over their dribble
Into a dirty spunk-stained sock.

Mike:   The Buckfast swilling tramps
Don't pay enough per trick
To fund your crack addiction
But they're all that you can pick,
So you earn a few more pennies
From the fishermen on the sea front
By incubating maggots for them
In your festering cunt.

Kate:   Whilst you're off shagging animals
They all give you the horn
From a well-hung Shetland pony
To a non-consenting faun
You've never been too fussy
Be it mammal, fish or bird
You even fucked a fly once
It mistook you for a turd

Mike:   Your pimp was getting tired
Of you earning him no cash
So he took you down to Calais
Where he then went on to stash
Half a dozen immigrants
Up your cavernous hole
And you innocently carried them
Right through passport control.

Kate:   All men love their mothers
But I hear you're close to yours
I suppose she's better looking
Than the other cracked-out whores
But you know it isn't moral
To pay her with a rock
Then steal her rancid knickers
And wear them on your cock

Mike:   Talking of rancid knickers,
I heard the M.o.D.
Conscripted yours to fight the foe
Out in the battlefield.
But when the U.N. heard of it
The project then got canned
Because biochemical warfare
Was well and truly banned.

Kate:   I'll have you know my knickers
Are fresh and clean each day
Not like your mam's foul fish flaps
All cheesy and decayed
No wonder when you lick her out
Your look such a disgrace
With cottage cheese and yellow pus
All splattered on your face

Mike:   I heard that you'd called Rentakill
To purge an infestation,
But not the mice and cockroaches
That roam around your kitchen
Nor the lice and bugs and ants
And other crawling critters,
But the colony of mangy rats
That live right up your shitter.

Kate:   I was just about to write a verse
About how your mam's fanny
Is your 2nd favourite knobbing hole
After your dead granny
But then I glanced outside and thought
Aaaah, what a lovely day!
And so perhaps we might now think
Of nicer things to say?

Mike:   You're absolutely right,
This has gone on long enough
And I'm running out of filthy things
To say about your muff.
It is nice hot sunny day
So we should count our luck.
I could finish on a dirty word
But I've let you off the hook.

Kate:   Indeed the sun is shining
The sky an azure blue
The smiling little buttercups
All glimmer in the dew
The gentle summer breeze that blows
The branches shorn and blunt
Reminds me that you're really
An incredibly nice guy.

Mike:   Why, thank you, Kate, that's really nice
I truly am quite touched.
I can't remember when I last
Enjoyed a day so much.
It's such a shame we have to be
So many miles apart
Because I've always seen you as
A jolly good friend.

Kate:   May I return those sentiments?
They're really awfully kind
These miles that lie between us
Are a bothersome old bind
That I cannot be near you
Makes me sullen, cross and sick
Because my dearest Michael
You're a massive fucking mate

Mike:   It's good to see we've patched things up
And finally made amends.
On such a lovely summer's day
We really should be friends.
We CAN be nice and enjoy life
Instead of just complaining.
Oh, the sun has gone behind a cloud
And now it's started raining.

 
Mike & Kate - August 2011



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