good to know,
                               good to know...
   (insert
a malicious snigger
while you're
at it) -
bypassing the natives
and rummaging
in their tongue
for puritanical reasons,
  never meddling in
their localised
accent derivatives;
just because i live
in the south of
england,
  doesn't mean i believe
in fairies and
numb-*** northern
monkeys of newcastle...
and they say that
the picts have
an undecipherable lingo...
go to liverpool i tell ye;
coming back from
glasgow after seeing
a tool concert,
            after kissing
a german girl in the crowd
because i sheltered her
from the squeeze of the mob,
we shared water,
yada yada...
            on zee boos...
     how prettily i
blended in when two poles
agitated a scot,
and i began talking
    to the scot
about mandolins,
        and fav pop soongs...
madonna's material girl...
    sure sure, sprinkle some
  king crimson while you're
at it...
          ******* pict didn't even
know i shared the same ethnic
background from the two *******
he insulted, over, what probably
was...
                 a tirade...
in the lesser sense of the word
governing length...
                  tie raid? ha ha...
     bypassing the natives suddenly
becomes a joy...
                as ever those
bulgarian quasi-greek ******,
    pretending to be romanian seafood...
just one word, and they'd be stunned
when pretending...
                  harasho, or?
        dobrze...
                                A o.k.
       oh yeah, worked a nightclub
just in order to buy a mandolin,
played the romeo to a fiona
outside her window,
      just in order to play
rod steward's maggie may...
a few years later,
         just gave it away, for free,
at a guitar shop.