Why are men so happy ****,
Wandering round, just eating food,
Manhood dangling between their thighs,
Never shy, whatever their size,
Sitting causally eating lunch,
Lazy lob, it's all too much,
When they slide along my palest couch,
My heart is really in my mouth,
For confidence, ten out of ten,
Just don't bend over, no not again!

Flopping down, drunk onto my bed,
Jumbled thoughts are buzzing in my head,
The room is spinning round and round,
I think I hear a choking sound,
I'm feeling like I might be sick,
Stumbling to the bathroom quick,
So undignified it makes me groan,
Talking to God on the big white telephone,
"Yes I'm ok, really, away you go",
As sick is pouring from my nose,
It needs to be a private matter,
When the pan is getting a splatter,
It will not end there, that drunken haze,
The hangover then, can last for days,
All of this is such a pain,
I'm never drinking, no not again.

Not,
So patiently , I watch the clock,
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock,
Tick tock, tick bollocking tock,
is that all,
you've ****** got?

A  kaleidoscope of colour, dances before my eyes,
So quickly came upon me, caught me by surprise,
The flashing lights though pretty, distract me from my task,
If it wasn't for the headache too, it could be quite a blast,
If you suffer from these migraines, it isn't very nice,
Losing most of your vision, head squeezed in a vice,
Best thing to do is pop a pill and lay in darkened room,
Not always convenient, when there's stuff you're trying to do,
Myself, I like to soldier on, so off to work I go,
I always take a little while though, to enjoy the show.

When I dance crazy around my room,
Singing out loud, , just as you do,
My Cocker Spaniel, joins in too,
She is a silly Betty Boo,
The Terrier George, is a different case,
His expression says, oh for ***** sake.

I have green eyes, they used to glow,
Now they're just **** holes in the snow,
My skin was peachy, smooth and firm,
It needs ironing now, or microderm,
Reading specs perch on my nose,
I can't believe how fast time goes,
My hair is coloured, grey beneath,
Thank Lord I do still have my teeth!

Not another flipping cooking show,
On the telly, it's all go,
Weird concoctions in their heads,
What's up with good old meat and veg?
Judges frowning, watching on,
The clock is ticking, must get done,
Sweat is dripping in their pies,
So some top Chef can criticise?
I'd love that job, the eating bit,
They never eat up all of it,
Sometimes they are just simply rude,
So if they criticised my food,
I wouldn't put up with that ****,
The buggers would be wearing it :)