I built me a yellowish
statue of you
out of last nights curry
and the cheese fondue.

Your *** was madras
your **** vindaloo
and stilton is what
yer built on.

WHOOP DE FUKIN DOO !!!!!,

Squares have disappeared,
and edges burred,
a root of the round
now abounds.

anathematic steel
has succumbed to rust.

horsepower has
reverted to horse and –
the kingfisher
will truly be king.

And the trees now thrum
and grasses dance
in the old bluebell wood,
the oak,
the ash,
the elm;
everything will be
as it should --

with the green man-
at the helm.

A smile for me that
doth beguile
my senses - and my wit,

I now do pledge my troth
to thee
my love - I now commit,
to love thee from this
far off place,
this distant foreign land.

Afore memories fade,
and drift away
I offer thee - my hand.

Still thy beating breast
and quell thy raging fear,
for the battle is in the distance
and the time is not yet here,

Cast thy thoughts to distant shores
and those that lay within,
to the shires of dear old England
that keeps thy kith and kin,

Smooth thy furrowed brow,
and rest thy weary head,
take leave of thy senses,
and worries thou will shed,
I’ll rouse thee son,
when lines are drawn
and battle cries we’ll sing,
till then my son take shelter,
neath Morpheus - tender wing,

If I should die
and God deny
then my oh my
my *** will fry
and my eye will cry
but I'll still
try to say
bye bye before
I FLY BOY FLY
into the sky
if you should
ask me why
oh why then
here is my reply
you can rely
upon this guy
to tie your tie
with this tongue tie
before I die, well,,,,,,,,,,,, good bye.

"- 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,

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!....

I'd like three cows
- maybe a bull;
couple of alpacas
- fer the wool.
a turtle,
a frog,
few pigs n a hog,
oh, - n a tortoise
n a porpoise
- the eggs
- which I'd flog

We danced around handbags
in Budleigh Salterton.
We oiled the hips on
yesterdays snake;
we were blue rinsed Madonna
and Fred Astair wanna.

we were flaming flamingos
on a shimmering lake.

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.

poetic poultice.

Take this salve;
this balm and unction,
apply around valve
n up yer junction,
refrigerate;
and best kept cool,
to thicken up
loose water stool,
please don't fret
n do not fear,
'tis but poetic,
diarrhea..

Cleethorpes


Shoveling sand up Sally's ***
n passing gas in the Lido,
Fitties camp n a loose hipped *****;
somefuckers dog named Fido.

Oh yeah; shove-halfpenny with gennyreny
and pitch n toss in big alley,
candyfloss, Bruce Lee's Big boss
n slurping on Sally's valley.

Wanna scoop your marrow
wanna peel your teeth,
wanna feel you lying bare beneath,
wanna savour sweet suckyou-lant meat
wanna fillet your soul-

make the we - complete....