There's a Sofa in my kitchen
and a Bread-bin in the lounge-
the missus won't stop *******
and the kids are on the scrounge.
the atmosphere is thick with queer
Simon Cowells on the telly,
Tom Jones's bones are
th' microphones n
his bowels are
Ooozzing smelly.
through atrophied
arseholes who choose
between iconicity
n the domesticity blues.
There's a Sofa in my kitchen
and a Bread-bin in the lounge
the missus won't stop *******
and the kids - are on the scrounge.

When you change the way
you look at things
the things you look
at change,
gives you a different slant
on oddity
the peculiar, weird ,
and strange,
so if normal is,
what normal be,
then normal is
not for me,
I’ll chose the path
of oddity,
the abnormality,
bourgeoisie,

In the shade of a Bongo Bongo tree
sits a leopard with no spots,
he's accompanied by his brothers three
who all are peppered with dot's,

The poor little chap is rather down
wondering why he's beigey brown
with not a spot or dot in sight
his future maybe -- not so bright,

Alas on the Serengeti plane
where spotted dotted leopard reign
a beigey brown,, no just won't do,,
looks much too much -- like a kangaroo, !!

A Dog of the sea
once told me;
"It's the pointy bits
of ships that go forward,
the blunt bit stirs the ****
behind."

First we fashiond our Gods
of stone
and then from a
sacred wood,
we even tried out
flesh n bone,
but it wasn't -
quite as good.
we lauded him as
"SON OF BOSS"
then promptly nailed
him - to the cross.
so can I borrow
your latest God?
as this one's
one helluvan-
awkward sod!....