"- M’ha boots -"


A blind gal stole m’ah boots today
jus' up n carried dem away ,,,,,, “musta bin blind !”
a’h was drunk a’h guess
a’h musta bin
was outta m’ah head
on moonshine gin,

A’h was Laid in ‘d gutter
a honkin down
when th’ gal crept up
a thief renown
n  had dem away on her dam toes
jus m’ah luck;
a’h do suppose, ,,,,“musta bin blind !,, musta bin !”

D’a boots were nearly
ten year old
jeeezus man d’ey were
covered in mould, !!  
m’ah toe poked out
d’a left hand boot
n made m’a feet stink
like - an old cheroot,

A’h  guess she was no sweet south belle,
but she sure was blind-
whid no sense ‘o smell.

As Winter slaps the ****
of Autumn, and lambs
no longer bleat -
I'm glad I saw these socks
n bought em -

I got really frigid feet...

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,