It is amazing what drink
will do a fella.

I shared a flat in SW6 2HL
London with an eccentric.

His dog was a Kerry Blue
called ****.

Chris Beresford it was, at
16 Britannia Road Fulham.

The lady next door felt sorry
for ****, she gave him bones.

Meaty ones after the Sunday
roast, we used to take it off him.

I often threw **** a tea bag and
he'd chomp it, thinking it was meat.

Chris never knew that, I got a great
laugh out of it, told all the lads.

I put Marijuana in meat ***** and
gave them to ****.

Chris said that he went funny on
Putney Bridge, he lay down.

He brought him home on the bus
number 22, to the Broadway.

The White Hart was my local, never
missed a day or night for seven years.

I was a right ******* eejit, what a waste
of a life and the women were mad for me.

Perdio the Greek used to give Chris old
stale Pitta's, we always had plenty.

Sometimes there was green fluffy stuff
on them, Chris said they were Irish.

I called them Flat Bread, Chris was posh,
he said they were unevened.

They're ****** flat Chris, like pancakes,
there is nottin uneven about them.