I saw Agnes outside Harrods Looking tres chic, le chic I say darling, what's happening, sweetie where's your Wainpatrik from the sticks our erudite writer who thinks aspic is pate
I gave that hick the 'go find your level' Agnes replied with a smile You know how it is with him and his drivel that coarse, crude, pretentious oik without a shovel He tries to be intelligent but his head is full of gravel bathes once a fortnight and has a todger like a weasel
You can't beat good breeding, she continues those reconstituted barrow-boys with B-Tech English thinking they are now genuine Lacks confidence, style, self assurance, wet as the Rhine ******* in the boudoir, sloppy kisser, todger like a string Bully and a coward trolling on his stolen PC, has no spine
Hey, lets **** down round my pad, she purred You may be out of shape at the moment But who's cooler, more charismatic and interesting than vous Do you know you're the best I have ever had and I mean it too You're head and shoulders above Wainputrid and that's so true The twerp is so envious of you, he and his barrow mates stew Tales of your exploits and size just leaves them aghast and askew
Hahaha...haha..she laughs as she linked arms, a glint in her eyes!