In a dark alley Behind The Rex Mary Carey executed her ex Dumped him by the side of the street Revenge was sweet She cut off his head Collecting his thoughts in a black plastic bag.
Took it home and showed her Mother Who took Mary to the attic And showed her the others “You did all this?” gasped Mary Carey “No, some of them are Nana’s And Great-Grandma’s too There’s allsorts here *****, ***** buggers every one Christian, Jew and Hindu. Men, they’re all the same.” Which would be nice if you were talking world peace.
Mary Carey had a daughter And, in an attempt to break the family tradition, Gave her away to the nuns at the Mission Grown, they sent her to Rome. Where, in St Peter's Square She bedded Deaded then Beheaded every man who tried to kiss her Leaving behind a trail of bloodied mitres And a pile of bin liners that might have been tied tighter. “Can’t stop Myself.” And off she popped in search of other buggers.
But the plastic bags in St Peter’s Square are suppurating And, far away from the Catholics, The collected thoughts of de-bodied Protestant Muslim, Hindu, Rastafarian and Jewish men Are flatulating through the puckered ***-holes of untidily tied knots. Some smell of roses Some of Forget-Me-Nots Of Valentine’s bouquets A lot of them smell like old ashtrays.
And one or two of rotten apples. These waft across the polished toecaps of young girls And leave a nasty stain. ***** minds: They're all the same.