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ioan pearce Feb 2010
we'm from the valleys,
high in wales,
dull  as donkeys,
hard as nails.

torvaen town,blaenavon gwent,
council caves,that some pay rent.
black and white tellys,
run on gas,
houses wiv lectric,is upper class.

we shoplift in winter,
cos summers no good,
you  can't wear coats,
you can't wear hoods.

we once mined coal,
made steel and iron,
honest hardmen,
pittance relied on.

now thats all gone,
thro government bullies,
now hoodies steal goodies,
from tesco and woolies.

valley boy logic,
philosophy real,
all good fings come.
....to those who steal.
Weasel Dec 2015
Nothin' left but empty pockets
And socks wit holes upon each heel.

All the good fings are swept away
Like a rotten banana peel.

Wit nowhere else to turn -
I turn to God.

Wit empty pockets
And holes in my socks -
I turn to God.

{ Weasel }
Hope you enjoy!
Thank you for reading.
Poem 29
© The Weasel
All rights reserved.

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