There’s a lonesome lass chilling at the bus stop,
Extracting the last few pulls from her hand rolled lollipop,
Now regretting those unnecessary bathroom pit stops,
Didn’t make a move but that’s not entirely her fault.

Shame her night had to come to such an abrupt end,
Regretting the money she allows her nose to continually spend,
Waiting in the rain for the ***** scented people wagon,
The night bus doth appear as rouge as Cadwaladr’s dragon.