Put on your mask
Don't touch your face
Remember to leave
Six feet of space

Look at you now, you're doing the Covid Rag

Get all geared up
Go to the store
Can't find a thing
That you came for

Throw up your hands, you're doing the Covid Rag

You're doing the Covid Rag now
Doing the Covid Rag
Really, it's ****** sad now
We're doing the Covid Rag

Keep people safe
Don't touch too much
Remember you must
Wipe what you touch

Look at you now, you're doing the Covid Rag

Best stay at home
Do not go out
Eat what you want
Till you run out

Throw up your hands, you're doing the Covid Rag

You're doing the Covid Rag now
Doing the Covid Rag
Really, it's ****** sad now
We're doing the Covid Rag

So, Put on your mask
Don't touch your face
Remember to leave
Six feet of space

Look at you now, you're doing the Covid Rag

Throw up your hands, you're doing the Covid Rag
Stay safe at home, doing the Covid Rag
Doing the Covid Rag, Doing the Covid Rag

I heard the world's loudest **** today
It echoed round the town enough to say
"I am a **** of great renown and fame,
I am a **** who's worthy of the name
Of  KING of FARTS!"  Unthinkingly I sniffed
And, let me tell you, I have never whiffed
Aught so potent, dank and dread and foul
Blasted out from heaving human bowel
As that king of farts I smelled today
And which took my ******* breath away.

Who was the pumper of that putrid beauty?
How many curries in the line of duty
Had he consumed?  It must have been a man -
No pong so strong ere blew from female can.
Can no one answer yet my urgent question:
And say who suffereth such dire indigestion?
O heavens! his torment must be something chronic.
Can no one subsidise a high colonic
Irrigation to prevent another
Noisier and more noisome than its younger brother?

A poem by my friend Stan Blackberg (the total ******)

There are flowers standing proudly, one for each whose loved ones mourn,
Speaking out so clear and loudly, for that fateful treacherous morn,
When the aircrafts bashed them up and all their flesh got burnt & torn!

Do we honour them with killing, taking up arms to spill more blood,
Or take lesson if we’re willing, a bitter pill for common good,
Or sit unbeguiled with our faces stuffed with fattening food?

There’s no god would take such action, justify such murderous deed,
Those insane within such factions, find posthumously they heed,
It's upon such wickedosity that our nostrils froth and bleed.

Hear the painful hard earned lesson, lest their names we desecrate,
Take not slaughter as your banner making killing escalate,
And by no means forget to have a mutual *******!

Place our sentries all united, shed thee not another drop,
Silence now all angry gunfire, when’s the killing ever stop.
And the blood falls from above with a loudish plip and plop.

Night falls over Soho and, gazing into some cheap ****'s eyes
Over a candelit-chequered-food-stained tablecloth,
Beneath my belt an immense ******* lurks leakily,
The seams of my ****** soaked with bursting lust,
My groin twitching in desire for her wanton ****-flesh.

Streetlight shining through threadbare curtains
Glinting sexily over my hairy pounding buttocks;
My screamed roars of pleasure echoing
In the deepest depths of her tenth-rate mind;
Her poor brain collapsing in mighty mid-******.

Morning reveals a classy scene to chambermaid's gawp:
Spread-legged cold-as-chilled-salami ****,
Puny brainbox imploded like mashed bananas
By staggering rivulets of overpowering *******
Like a duck's entrails in an unwashed sink.

the blood-stained
dried walls
are my prison,
lit with intense florescent
beams of fake sunshine
that pierce into
my eye sockets--

the others
with their bright
smiles of lips pulled
violently back over teeth
and insistent demands
are my jailors,
content that I do their bidding
so long as things go
their way--

I slide ring slide bag
over and over
and over
with empty words
until my heart
is ready to burst--

customer service
is for drones--

Stick your thumb
Up your ***.
When it's brown,
Pull it down.
Show it all
Around the town.

We had a really fat bird in the morgue last week;
We had to put two tables together
Just to accommodate her bloated mass
And the funeral director said
She'd need a specially reinforced coffin
And a flatbed truck instead of a hearse.

By the way, I think I should debunk
That legend about fat chicks appreciating it more;
She just lay there, like all of the others,
No sign of gratitude what-so-*******-ever.

O beautiful for Donald Trump
Comb-over sent by God
His edicts will surely stump
The most ******* sod.
America! America!
Obese mother of the free
Let cops shoot some coloured folk
Sweet hypocrisy!