Water features aren't for me,
They make me want to do a ***,
In the garden, summer barbecue,
I keep nipping in to use the loo,
Sprinkle, sprinkle, blooming sprinkle,
Oh not again, I need a ******,
It may be more to do with age,
Let's not go there now , at this stage.

People driving in their cars,
Overtaking, racing past,
Desperate to get past mine,
Giving me the Finger sign,
It really makes me want to laugh,
They'd never do that on the path.

Does my *** look big in this?
Is he brave enough to take the ****,
Or maybe opt for tactful route,
Of " no babe no, your *** looks cute",
No man dare tell it like it is,
Unless he has a big death wish,
Or silent treatment longer than lent,
To be bought up every argument,
*** ban enforced, she'll make you pay,
In each and every painful way,
So when she asks that fated line,
I would recommend you take your time,
When women ask about their butts,
Just think how much you love your nuts.

My knifes so blunt my brother comments,
He could ride bare arsed to London on it,
When he tries to carve the meat,
He has to just admit defeat,
The wrestling match began with hope,
Jokes come fast, there's so much scope,
Beads of sweat come on his brow,
Cursing starts, he's ******* now,
I really ought to buy some more,
Not laugh myself onto the floor. :)

I often think that those who mutter,
Behind our backs, about all others,
Have nothing better in their lives,
Than stirring up another's strife,
Sly little eyes don't miss a thing,
Of another persons suffering,
Their ears ***** up, in crowded rooms,
To glory in another's gloom,
Gossip so hot, your ears would burn,
No ones safe, you'll get your turn,
**** they stir in the *** of doom,
They really ought to lick the spoon.

A while ago, the mirrored me,
in my reflection looked tired, you see,
This went on and on, oh my,
The time has really passed me by,
It's with regret I now accept,
However long, I've ****** slept,
Without being so tactfully told,
That I'm not just tired, but getting old.

When a loved one leaves our earthly plain,
They may not make it back again,
But clever tactics have been learned,
To show us we have not been spurned,
They drop a feather in our path,
It flutters down, though not by draft,
And judging by their pretty colour,
They don't belong, they're sent from others,
I always pick my feathers up,
They fill my heart with lots of love,
Proves those who've passed, are still around,
These gifted feathers on the ground.