I like cows;
cows seem to like Me,
maybe we ought to get together sometime;
chew the cud,
talk udders--
YEAH,
that'd be good,
we could crap on daisies
in the meadow,-
watch them grow-
**** in streams
add a liddle-- YELLLOOOWWW,
eat only the greenest grass
yeah, that'd be good,

I just need to learn to mooo.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,­,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,mooo,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,­,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,MOOOOOOOOO.

Divorce

I acquiesce to your request my dear
I’ll take my leave of thee,
just give me half the money dear
and divorce I will agree,
the marriage is truly over
this is plain to see,
it happened when ****** partners
increased from two – to three,

you couldn’t keep your legs shut
they were open good and wide,
just to let your lover
stuff his **** inside,
you say he’s a better lover;  
he’s sensitive and kind,
also that for the first time
******* you did find,

but  in my own defence dear-
and this I truly think,
your big and hairy *****
was rancid and did stink,
and your lover you should inform him;
oh - this isn’t just a tease!
if he’d care to inspect his *******
He’ll find a small disease,

'twas on a mate’s stag do
that I fell for a honey trap
I’m afraid you must inform him-
I acquired the ****** clap,
so let’s just call it even
and go our separate ways,
we’ll admit that hanky panky
never -feckin -pays.

"- The Greasy spoon -"





I wonder if there’s canteens
in Heaven;
with cottage cheese that’s
quite appealing
hob *** biscuits
n darjeeling -- yeah;
Wonder if there's canteens-
in heaven;
Maybe beans on toast
or a Sunday roast
is served by God
the holy ghost,
n his only son is the one-
who pours the gravy;

yeah;
wonder if there’s canteens - in Heaven.

A diagnosis of masturbatory insanity
is the inevitable conclusion
that I, as a fellow onanist,
debaucher of sheep,
and baby goat buggerer
have bestowed upon your befuddled mind.

Your insistence in frequenting
the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution
and self evacuation of one's seed
with mutual onanistic pursuits of sodamistic bed fellows
and other anti Christian pursuits,
have finally brought a visitation of madness
to the perverted soggy mess
masquerading as your brain;


If one may make an
advantageous suggestion
to your befuddled self,
it would be to seek out a restorative nervous elixir
or wrist strengthening electuary,
the former of which would aid in the
"compos mentis" of your good self;
and the latter is extremely efficacious in the
soothing of onanist wrist
and vinegar stroke eye.

but alas; neither is of use against the
" ejaculatio praecox " of foetid poetry..

your Servant, Obadiah Grey.

Secretary for spermatorrhea conservation

Shoppin wiv Albert.



I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.


He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.