When dh'a reaper come a
knockin on ma’h door
tell him a'h gone to bogator,
if he want ma’h ***,
he'll have to wait,
a'h goda liddle more life
to satiate,
A’h sold ma’h soul
to be-el-zebub
for a cute liddle ***
an' a tummy rub,
So a'h guess ah’ll be
a headin d udder way
an' widda old nicks ******
ah'ma gonna play,

Now be-el-zebub said to me dat time
" sign dis boy your *** be mine, !!"
a’h know dis now, a’hn a’h knew dat den,
he purloined ma’h soul whidda fountain pen,
so lawd oh lawd please hear m'ah plea
take pity m'ah lawd on poor auld me,
deliver m'ah soul to da' place above
n tell be-el-zebub dat' he can shove !!

R,I,P.

Here lies the body
o' poet Anon.
broke wind once
and then was gone.

so, think on this
afore you depart,
life is but one--
unencumbered ****.

Gathering silence
in mustering of the dark-
hollow beats the heart.

A Pox ! a Pox !
upon the man
that flogged my wife
this camper van,
and told her please don't
worry dear
that damp patch here
is nothing queer,
it's merely steam
and condensate
that's dripping on your
empty pate...