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Telling lies,
we all do it.

I'm flat footed so couldn't join the army
(Nothing wrong with my feet, I'm just scared of fighting)

I'm colourblind with certain shades of red
(Nothing wrong my eyesight, it's just something I once said)

I once caught a pike over thirty pound in weight
(I only won a goldfish once, when at the village fete)

Telling my mates in the pub I was man of the match with a hat trick
(When I was really curled up in bed, hungover and half sick)

Bungee jumped a thousand feet up, into a Kiwi lagoon
(When I was really eating breakfast in bed, only in my hotel room)

I've travelled the world, been far, been wide to tell you all this crap
(I turn it on with such truth, it's all from Google Maps)

As people are gullible, fascinated by stories of lies and endeavour
(Words can be misconstrued,changed to make you sound clever)

We meet them on a daily basis, these fiends with a thousand foes
(Just full of lies, boiling up, from their fingers down to their toes)

But it's not just me as you look at the other person in the room
(How long until you suss them out, albeit not too soon)

For we all tell the odd porky, even if it is a little white lie
But sometimes they become to much and then its hello, bye -bye

Stupid ****** Lies (Don't believe a word they say)

“If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.”
― Mark Twain

“I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche

“I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.”
― S.E. Hinton, The Outsiders

“If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.”
― Adolf ****** (Really?)
If the BBC...
Knew how we all really do talk in the car,
Of our real opinions,
Our views,
Of what we think of certain people in life,
How our daily chat is embroiled in what they don't report,
Our loves that don't include politics,
A real box to tick,
Who we hate,
Who we really do rate,
And who should go into that next big seat at No.10,
Then the BBC should speak to the man on the street,

The British builder,
The factory worker
The delivery driver
The plumber
The average office worker
The struggling student and not those whose parents have money
The small towns near Grimsby,Bristol and those in Newcastle
The real man
The Nine til Five and then the Seven til' Eleven
The every penny earnt and still they are struggling

If the BBC actually reported on this,
Then this would be the real Britain they would be showing,

Come at me with what you will
I take no offence at your thoughts that are ill
Throw those words,
Bombard me,
Harass me,
Try and really hurt me,
Watch them bounce into the depths of nowhere
You'd better sit down as your gonna need a chair
As your words of corruption really do not scare
I have elephant skin,
I'll take it on the chin,
And find somewhere else to begin
As I do not deflate
It's just a thing called fate
Your endless dramas became a bit long in the tooth as,
These bones and skin are now, lets just say,

Puncture proof

What to wear on that specific day;
Super Skinny
Oh what the heck
Should they be trousers, jeans, combats or chinos
What if the crowd are all smart come casual
My Converse boots or my polished Italian Tino's
I don't want to stand out like a sore thumb
A shirt and blazer is how I think I should come
The tail end of a wedding can be a confusing matter
As you don't want to be seen as the talking point of their chatter
These tartan cotton threads can be worn on any occasion
Dark yet understated, I'm not one for too brazen

So many ideas
Stemmed from the root of my brain
Many can be pretty boring but some are **** insane
A spiders web without any pattern
Some as small as Mercury but could be as big as Saturn
Life has no pattern on whom you may meet
From walking one day to being sat in this seat
But where do I start with a thought oh so new
There is no God I can trust to speak words that are true
It's just a stroke of luck as to what direction
No rota can guide you with a choice or right rotation
It's always down to the person who has the next best thought
For this life and its guidance is something that can never be taught

Bless me Lord for I have sinned
As I once grew a haircut that I shortly binned
But I knew at the time it was thoroughly wrong
Because these things happen when you grow it that long
A look in the mirror and you think it looks alright
Seriously man, that really isn't right
Laughed at behind closed doors and always behind your back
Yeah, it's true, you do look a complete ****
If haircuts were numbered you'd be looking at a one
As the village idiot would even shave it off
That bundle
That irresponsible
That monstrosity to the back of the human head
The Man Bun


Picking up the pieces of a talent now exhaled
Your nothing man
Come join the show
Living off those where you have always failed

Pinching most of their words
Into a flutter that can half fly
You take the fame
The glory
Their right stuff
Where in truth you never tried

For you are a fake, half baked
Let truth be told
You never learnt nothing
But to you that's a something
Where courage is your two faced plain bold

With no friends as that's your lot
Now down that last sorry shot
As you know who you are
And it's a stretch that's gone to far

Because its closing time at this selfish nameless bar

Always believe the truth

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