Why are Sunday’s so boring
Why is the world half asleep
Why do I still love the smell of a Sunday dinner
Why are car parks so cheap
Why are shopping centres so empty
Why do supermarkets seem to thrive
Why do church’s get busy
Why is the tv crap on channel five
Why do car boots seem bigger
Why are christenings always on this day
Why did Songs of Praise end
Why did Harry Secombe go away
Why are all the same films shown
Why does the Wimbledon final sometimes run late
Why do kids get Easter eggs
Why do my kids get me up before eight
Why am I moaning more than ever
Why am not alseep and snoring
Why have I wrote this silly poem
Oh thats right, it’s sunday, and it’s boring

My cat has got a problem
She keeps hiding in my bed
Every time I pull back the covers
Shes cuddled next to ted

My mother says throw her out
But I haven’t got the heart
Especially in the rainy weather
I’m a just a soppy old ****

No I’ll let her creep in
And lie on top of the sheet
My partner isn’t too pleased though
When the cat licks her feet

I’m tough I’m gruff
A little bit rough
And my name on the street
Is beryl

I’m Great I’m a mate
A little bit late
But the word on the beat
Is I’m mad

I’m young I’m well hung
A little bit tongue
When I speak they say
Please be quiet

I’m a drip with a lip
With pants below my hip
All the girls swoon
When they see my friend

I’m a lover I’m your brother
I fancy your mother
My voice is getting dull
I’m off now see you around

***** words on colourful cards
Sausages and fruit with a **** core
Humourous lines and ****** remarks
That your parents enjoyed even more
Fathers would stand and laugh out loud
Mothers would smirk and tut
Kids would try to see the joke
That the makers had saucily put
In seaside towns on twisted racks
Rude and crude and funny
Sent back home to the family
At the expense of a little bit of money
Hilarious designs to shock
****** jokes for a laugh
Postcards that men wanted
Amusing but equally just naff

Tremendously they sparkle
And what really is so remarkable
Is those earrings only cost her twenty pence

Shimmering in the sunlight
The child’s beautiful colourful kite
Blissfully happy for the cost of thirty pence

Explosive words leap from the page
In the book that’s all the range
Gripped in fiction for just five pence

Content in bars of wood
A baby sleeps as a baby should
All peaceful for the price of ten pounds

Buying hotels across the board
Putting competitors to the sword
The board game for only a pound

I remember being a child
I remember it oh so well
Those frequent little moments
Where life was heaven but often hell

I remember being a child
I remember hill street blues
A theme tune and not much content
Reminds me of sky news

I remember being a child
Watching kids tv
Magic torch’s and button moons
Little treasures that stay with me

I remember being a child
A scouts hut full of wood
Neckerchief and plastic woggles
And knots I never understood

I remember being a child
Talking to my friends
Before adulthood made an entrance
The beginnings of the ends

I remember being a child
Emotion being a toy
I controlled it and made it fun
But now it decides my joy

I hear this horrible sound
Like a child shouting
And I wonder where it is

I hear a horrible warble
Hanging in the air
And I wonder what it is

I hear the worst sound imaginable
Soaring through the night
And I wonder why I can hear it

Then I find out what it is
It’s a fox crying
And I wonder why it is
Crying
And then realise
It’s just nature