"gent" poems
I passed a small boy named Solomon Woods
deep in thought with a book
He licked a finger, turned a page
too engrossed to give me a look
I met a young lad named Solomon Woods
humming a gentle tune
He smiled and waved, shook my hand
and wished me a good afternoon
I danced with a friend named Solomon Woods
while he sang me one of his songs
What he lacked in skill he offset with zeal
and insisted I sang along
I sat with a man named Solomon Woods
glad of his still, gentle manner
His reliable smile and kind wise words
drowned out the usual clamour
I walked with a gent named Solomon Woods
glad of his confident stride
I knew for sure he faced the world
trusting God as his strength and guide
If you meet a man named Solomon Woods
he'll certainly stop for a while
If you have the time, he'll sing you a song
and leave you with a smile
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
Quaint
pink curtains and tablecloths.
White walls.
The sugary smell of almonds, pistachio
and butterscotch skip around the room,
playing hopscotch and Mary Mack.
The display is impressive,
I can smell each grain of sugar
in these petit cupcakes and dollops of icing.
And then a little girl wails!
Mommy won't buy
her anymore
sweet treats.
Bawling--
the girl does an angry-stomp-dance-
and then a woman, livid--
storms up to the counter.
I said half dozen almond biscotti.
I can't take these to my book club.
Isn't anyone here competent?
Her booming voice has no effect
on the lone,
tired African-American woman behind the counter.
She seems disassociated from the present chaos.
The dark circles under her eyes
and the surrounding pursed lip wrinkles say everything.
Excuse me, but I've been waiting
on a refill of the complimentary coffee
for over ten minutes now
an uptight gent in a business suit complains.
When the woman behind the counter
pulls out out a shotgun--
there is silence.
This ain't what I wanted
she whimpers just before
the weapon gracefully slides
under her chin--
--!BAM!--
As I walk out the door,
I wonder how long it will
take for someone to realize
that's not red icing or sprinkles
on the cupcakes.
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 10:32 AM UTC
Rusty dusty pick up trucks
Old Fords and busted Chevys
Trucks that tear the road apart
And some stuck down the levy
Showing off at the truck show
All polished up and nice
When an old man in a beat up Ford
Looked us over once or twice
It don't matter how the cover looks
It's what's beneath the hood
You may look awful pretty
But, with no power...it's no good
You wanna get the ladies
Remember, it's what's beneath the hood
Although they like a real good ride
There ain't no ride, if there's no wood
I smiled and I watched the gent
Walk and laugh and smile some
He'd mumble something to the girls
And they'd follow to where he'd come
His truck, was old and battered
Wasn't tricked out like the rest
But, when it came to having girls around
This old man was the best
It don't matter how the cover looks
It's what's beneath the hood
You may look awful pretty
But, with no power...it's no good
You wanna get the ladies
Remember, it's what's beneath the hood
Although they like a real good ride
There ain't no ride, if there's no wood
A truck may last a long long time
But you've got to use it right
You've got to check the engine
And try to run it every night
I remember what the old man said
It's about what's there beneath the hood
The girls don't want it pretty
The girls, they want it good.....
It don't matter how the cover looks
It's what's beneath the hood
You may look awful pretty
But, with no power...it's no good
You wanna get the ladies
Remember, it's what's beneath the hood
Although they like a real good ride
There ain't no ride, if there's no wood
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
The Pigeon Gent,
He woos and coos around the river bent.
Pursues his muse with artful dance and skillful prance,
With inflated neck and ruffled plumage, until his energy or luck is spent.
He then resides by ebbing tides to ponder on his next advance.
"Now Now", "Whats This" the gent exclaims,
A shadow looming from the skies.
With ***** and claps he glides and lands with full surprise,
He spies the intruder, "A fellow Brooder".
Pigeon gent cant believe his eyes.
Pigeon Gent cannot believe the sauce,
The scurge seems intent on taking his prize by force.
At once he knows he must respond,
And force this illbread vagabond to abscond.
At once chest puffed and muscles flexed,
With wild eyes he jabs and pecks.
To teach this ruffian respect,
So on his actions he may later reflect.
He stands his ground both large and proud,
To make example of this foul winged burglar from the clouds.
"You insult me sir" he shouts aloud,
To make his intentions clear for all the crowd.
For several rounds they fight and scuffle.
With intruder retreating, feathers ruffled.
Then bested suiter fairly parted,
The quarrel ends as fast as started.
The vanquished victor displays and grooms,
As peace and honour now resumes.
Soon the ripples upset the green,
An armada of ducks come on the scene.
Alerted by the heightend coos,
They race to see what act insues.
The mighty mallards, Kings of the river,
None contest their right of way.
Their ways of conduct such generous givers.
Majestic river royalty, the law is always what they say.
On bank or shallow pebbled river they have always been,
They love to feed and breed amongst the river scene.
There royal cape made up of browny reds and shimmering greens,
reflects and intejects on mirrored water skies and evergreens.
To their mates for life and lady lovers,
The mallard gent is like no others.
Such loyalties are seldom seen,
In modern times and different dreams.
Fine and lean with striking features,
Best examples of river teachers.
But at any moment no matter how abrubt,
A river duel may easily erupt.
Battle can ensue and rage,
As both apponents approach and engage.
For they mate for life as duck and wife,
A rarity in any age or life.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
.
I'm glad I am a rough diamond,
not cut, and ready to buy.
Women don't want polished men,
they want a malleable guy.
I'm not the King of Diamonds,
not domesticated nor trained.
I'm not a gent, soft of touch.
I'm wild and lustful and stained.
So I am the Jack of Diamonds
strong and rugged and tough.
No culture taints my mind,
and knowledge is just - stuff.
When I find me a willing Lady,
she just can't get enough,
especially when I head for
her Diamond in the Rough.
© Pagan Paul (03/04/17)
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC
Over the handle bars and up the road,
hold on tight,here we go,
waving on to the people going by,
this man, oh you know, he was never shy,
the friendly smile was not just every once and awhile,
always there ,an ear to share,
a heart, oh he really did care.
The peeky cap, if you stole he'd snap
"you're never too old for a slap",
them shining eyes, often spoke of his 3 boys,
when they where young& the things they done,
he never forgot, the two who complete the lot,
two wonderful girls for years were there by his side,
the stories he'd share,
he'd tell of his wife, the woman who complete his life,
her beautiful looks they were always a must.
through the years,was fond of his beers,
always an eexcuse to raise 3 cheers,
a man full of laughter and everyone would follow after,
he'd joke, you'd choke leaving you with a croke.
when he was around, there was never a frown,
one thing he wouldn't do, was bring you down,
you know he was messing, if he was in your life a blessing,
a true gent, in his company time well spent,
a man so strong, a hero, in our hearts he belongs!
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Little moist drops of heaven
Trickling down my throat
The heavenly burn,
delicious
Synonymous with an Angel's wings
fluttering in my esophagus
Liquid lightning, striking
Almost blasphemous
A devilish game of Russian Roulette
With four shot glasses,
Three rogues and one gent
Emotions getting looser
Clothing getting tighter
The taste becoming
Sweeter
Liquefied demon tears
Playing a wicked game
with my insides
Putting a beautiful curse on my mind
Melted Whiskey Raindrops
Sending shivers down my spine
This hellish war of love, hate and
Intoxication
Has never felt so
Divine
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
Here comes the bride
Proud down the aisle;
If she knew what I know
She wouldn't smile.
Here comes the groom
Such a handsome gent;
But I know his secret
He's warped and he's bent.
*(Refrain)
Fountains of beauty
Such a handsome pair;
I hope someone told them
To wash their ***** hair.*
There stand the couple -
See them plight their troth
Shall I tell you something?
I've had them both.
There stands the priest,
Dressed like a swell;
He's nothing special:
I've ****** him as well.
*(Refrain)
May blessings from Heaven
Downwards descend;
But don't let the best man
Catch you if you bend.*
**(Final Chorus)
Here comes the bride
Legs open wide
She's no vestal ******
As I think I have implied.**
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:06 PM UTC
The cranes flew and the city grew and what did I do?
put my head in the sand,
so I could no longer see the change that was happening all around me.
A land fit for heroes,city tycoons and wannabe Nero's and now't left in the stew *** for me or for you lot,
and how do you feel about that?
More money than sense and scant recompense for the builders who toil,who make the monsters that rise and eat up the soil, despoiling the land,more heads in the sand but holding out hands for that scant recompense.
Reconciling the bile in their throats with those city gent suits in their trilby's and coats and soldiering on until the earth is all gone.
A legacy indeed for them who would scramble in scrub land and grow things to feed the dysfunction of family,
what seeds we have sown,how defectively grown we've become and all for the buildings that greedily search out the sun,
somewhere up in the heights.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
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I played with my brother's GI Joe.
Is that okay?
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
Matt. British gent to British *****
You became insecure, moody, obsessive and possessive
And that doesn't give you the excuse to abuse. It’s over.
Norman. Male twin to turned twin.
You became my best friend so easily, come boyfriend
Then you broke up with me for my brother. It’s over.
Ryan. Sweet guy to skaterboi.
I don’t even know why we dated,
Probably because we left people who abused us. It’s over.
Noel. Romantic to heart-frantic.
You chose that nasty ex over me, and she only hurt you.
I've never came so close to fighting a girl in school. It’s over.
Morgan. Cuban fling to cutie far away.
I realize we were both drunk, but you initiated the kiss
And you weren't too bad at it, for a girl… but you’re in Ontario. It’s over.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 7:20 PM UTC
There's something about her
That gets him caught up in his words
That gets him three feet off the ground
That gets him chirping like the birds
There's something about her
That makes him stop and stare for a while
Could it be those ****** little eyes
Or that irresistible smile?
There's something about her
Must be her sweet, marshmallow scent
She's a priceless jewel, crafted with extra care
She could be my lady, I could be her gent
There's something about her
An angel sent from above
Her gentle touch and delicate skin
No wonder I'm falling in love
There's something about her
I may not know it yet
But she's everything I could ever dream about
The greatest girl I've ever met
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
A sportin' death! My word it was!
An' taken in a sportin' way.
Mind you, I wasn't there to see;
I only tell you what they say.
They found that day at Shillinglee,
An' ran 'im down to Chillinghurst;
The fox was goin' straight an' free
For ninety minutes at a burst.
They 'ad a check at Ebernoe
An' made a cast across the Down,
Until they got a view 'ullo
An' chased i'm up to Kirdford town.
From Kirdford 'e run Bramber way,
An' took 'em over 'alf the Weald.
If you 'ave tried the Sussex clay,
You'll guess it weeded out the field.
Until at last I don't suppose
As 'arf a dozen, at the most,
Came safe to where the grassland goes
Switchbackin' southwards to the coast.
Young Captain 'Eadley, 'e was there,
And Jim the whip an' Percy Day;
The Purcells an' Sir Charles Adair,
An' this 'ere gent from London way.
For 'e 'ad gone amazin' fine,
Two 'undred pounds between 'is knees;
Eight stone he was, an' rode at nine,
As light an' limber as you please.
'E was a stranger to the 'Unt,
There weren't a person as 'e knew there;
But 'e could ride, that London gent--
'E sat 'is mare as if 'e grew there.
They seed the 'ounds upon the scent,
But found a fence across their track,
And 'ad to fly it; else it meant
A turnin' and a 'arkin' back.
'E was the foremost at the fence,
And as 'is mare just cleared the rail
He turned to them that rode be'ind,
For three was at 'is very tail.
'Ware 'oles!' says 'e, an' with the word,
Still sittin' easy on his mare,
Down, down 'e went, an' down an' down,
Into the quarry yawnin' there.
Some say it was two 'undred foot;
The bottom lay as black as ink.
I guess they 'ad some ugly dreams,
Who reined their 'orses on the brink.
'E'd only time for that one cry;
''Ware 'oles!' says 'e, an' saves all three.
There may be better deaths to die,
But that one's good enough for me.
For mind you, 'twas a sportin' end,
Upon a right good sportin' day;
They think a deal of 'im down 'ere,
That gent what came from London way.
3.6k
A busy man, a real nice gent.
Its often said of me.
Hard working and of good intent.
I would not disagree.
My work is of such an importance.
Skilled beyond my years am I.
Requiring such diligence.
Without that, many poor could die.
Skill is gained by repetition.
Practice must be sought.
My weekend is an expedition.
Where ladies of the night are bought.
In the darkness no applause.
An operation I attend.
Lying here without her drawers.
Her life suddenly at end.
I only take the parts I need.
That’s all I ever do
I am not here to sow my seed.
To my wife I am true.
But dangers lurk round every bend.
They have it in for me.
And so this exercise must end.
So much for liberty.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
Skin as White as Winter Snow
Legs as Boundless as the Sea,
Stationed in Venice or Bordeaux
From Blue-collar to Bourgeois.
Hair is Chic, Yet not Pristine
Soft and Cropped and Fine,
Cheekbones High a Distinct Ravine
Embellished by a High Neckline.
Undefined Peaks and Troughs
Cumbersome and Lank,
Garnished in the Finest Cloth
Awash with Unassuming Swank.
Miss Androgynous hear my call
For I've Become a Virile Gent,
I Yearn for your Unwieldy Frame
That God in Heaven Sent
February 2011
Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 3:11 PM UTC
I still owe you proof
Of why you are amazing
But I didn’t want to sound too stupid
Or too crazy
Or utter cliché things
That wouldn’t cause you to move
Here is why you’re amazing
Because you saved a boy’s life
Both inside and out
You loved this demon
When it didn’t deserve love
You mended its scars
As soon as they were cut
Because of you
A scared little boy’s shell
Wasn’t shattered apart,
Just slowly chipped
Till the rest fell apart
You brought a smile
To a lonely nerd
You took his hand
When he was used to air
You lay on his shoulder
And made him stiffen like Medusa’s stare
And gave him a journal
That he filled with his despair
You are an angel
Because you love
You love Mom
You love Dad
You love my siblings
And you love nature
You caused me to grow
And love those I didn’t really know
Loulou
Will
Aunt Ginger
Jesus, God
You are outstanding
Because you care
About friends
And strangers
You sacrifice yourself
For others to be happy
You put yourself towards the bottom
So others can feel the top
You are amazing
Because you made a loner loser
Keep a jar
Of bubble soap
To blow away is pain
And hope to share with his princess one day
You’ve made a child
Who hasn’t cried in years
Bawl at the thought
That you wouldn’t be near
Or that he caused our tears
You’ve caused an arrogant gent
To stop and think
On whether it was time to grow up
Or lose his love
To stop and stare
At the road ahead
And the consequences of the path he led
You have known this “knight”
Who wears a tattered worn
Gym school uniform
And gave him hope
That he wouldn’t grow old alone
You met a child
In 2009
Whom you’ve help mold
Almost a third of his life
Into a man
Who he is proud of today
I know this is long
And it’s time for bed
But I couldn’t go another day
Without telling you the way
On which you have changed forever
The heart and mind
Of my person and my life
You are gorgeous
You are intelligent
You are stunning
But most of all
What I love over all
Is the fact that I have
The privilege to state the fact
That I love you
And that you are
Absolutely
Perfectly
Hands down
The most
Amazing person
That has ever
Entered my life
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
We gather in Old London town,
the time is getting late.
The fog is slowly coming down,
the year is eighteen eighty eight.
The Leather Apron stalks this eve
ladies of the night beware.
Such things he does you wont believe
and for your welfare he’ll not care.
Hello Mister have a heart,
a girl has got to earn a crust.
A shilling for this fine old ****
for you look like a gent to trust.
In her hand the coin doth shine.
Does she lead this toff astray?
Here’s a quiet place that’s fine,
as she walks up the alley-way.
Face to face and eye to eye.
The victim happy to be plied
with vigour she lifts up her skirt
but now her hands are occupied.
Seizing strongly at her throat
he strangles her till unaware.
Unconscious although not yet broke
he lowers her by head and hair.
Now insentient on the ground
the Ripper sets about his work.
In the dark without a sound
there is no detail he will shirk.
He keeps the body to his left,
her throat is sliced from side to side.
The woman’s family now bereft,
whilst she lies here without her pride.
Left to the nights illumination
Jack executes his deadly art.
Performing such skilled mutilation.
and leaving plus one body part.
Daylight opens up commotion,
"Whitechapel Murderer", strikes once more.
The peelers haven’t got a notion
who it is that killed this *****
Scotland Yard are in despair
as they try to Investigate
their credibility beyond repair
for they cant find this reprobate.
Eventually the death toll, five,
the murders now come to an end.
Folk are free to live their lives
but could you trust even a friend.
Over an hundred years or more
professional research is far to late.
Jack, can we ever know the score?
"No... All you can do is speculate."
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
Title : Beauty Within Beauty
Poet : Phyll
Genre : Love/Beauty/flaws
Year : 2018
P/Swno. : 260
BEAUTY WITHIN BEAUTY
As Authored By Phyll
Love,
You stand so bold,
And so sleek.
You have this Beaut...
Beautiful,
Rich,
dark,
And chocolate complexion.
Your smooth,
Chocolate skin...
So smooth.
So soft.
So silky.
So sweet...
So sweet like a piece of candy.
When I try and speak,
My words get so mashed up.
I end up not saying anything!
You give me this sense of urge...
Urgency to be the best...
The best person I can be.
You have this beauty about you,
That i can't go a day without.
I have this chronic disease,
The doctor called it ATAY;
Always Thinking About You!
Even though you are already mine,
You have this beauty about you...
You make me feel warm and safe.
Your beauty is mor...
More than just beauty!
Your beauty is a thing I call;
.B..L..A..C..K. .B..E..A..U..T..Y.
Never fall;
For anyone else!
They'll just hurt you in the end.
Trust me cause for them,
As easy as it was to get you
It'll be even easier to replace you.
Believe me when i tell you;
Your BLACK BEAUTY,
Is not your ideal beauty.
Your beauty,
Is the way you carry yourself;
In this high esteemed way.
That I don't care,
About what you say or do wrong.
Cause to me,
It's what your beauty entails.
The way you make words sound;
So smooth and so good.
You give me this sense;
Sense of protection and comfort.
Whenever we hug,
To me the world is just for two;
Just me and you!
When we make eye contact,
And our eyes lock;
I can feel what you feel,
You feel what I feel?
But I can't say how I feel,
With my words.
We can't say a thing,
This connection is wordless...
I just can't explain,
I just don't know why.
I want to get to know you,
More than I know myself.
Despite the fact that I'm a gent,
You make me feel beautifu...
I felt a certain way for you,
Ever since I first met you...
I don't doubt you feel the same,
Ever since I first saw you.
Just never had the courage to say anything,
But i am now your beholder.
Your BLACK BEAUTY,
Portrays it all.
That's why,
I not only like you,
But i love everything about you!
Feel Special my
.B..L..A..C..K. .B..E..A..U..T..Y.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
COPYRIGHT BY PHYLL
[email protected]
(C)2018.*
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
Once I seen a human ruin
In a elevator-well.
And his members was bestrewin'
All the place where he had fell.
And I says, apostrophisin'
That uncommon woful wreck:
"Your position's so surprisin'
That I tremble for your neck!"
Then that ruin, smilin' sadly
And impressive, up and spoke:
"Well, I wouldn't tremble badly,
For it's been a fortnight broke."
Then, for further comprehension
Of his attitude, he begs
I will focus my attention
On his various arms and legs--
How they all are contumacious;
Where they each, respective, lie;
How one trotter proves ungracious,
T' other one an alibi.
These particulars is mentioned
For to show his dismal state,
Which I wasn't first intentioned
To specifical relate.
None is worser to be dreaded
That I ever have heard tell
Than the gent's who there was spreaded
In that elevator-well.
Now this tale is allegoric--
It is figurative all,
For the well is metaphoric
And the feller didn't fall.
I opine it isn't moral
For a writer-man to cheat,
And despise to wear a laurel
As was gotten by deceit.
For 'tis Politics intended
By the elevator, mind,
It will boost a person splendid
If his talent is the kind.
Col. Bryan had the talent
(For the busted man is him)
And it shot him up right gallant
Till his head began to swim.
Then the rope it broke above him
And he painful came to earth
Where there's nobody to love him
For his detrimented worth.
Though he's living' none would know him,
Or at leastwise not as such.
Moral of this woful poem:
Frequent oil your safety-clutch.Porfer Poog.
2.6k
These feet have been around
Plodded in puddles
Clogged and clicked the ground
To you they're safe
To me you're sound
To run round to you
Oh crave I could now
Golden hair
Cartwheel flair
Peppermint breath
Fly in fresh air
Not once whistled
Not even splintered despair
Since good girl
Oh she's been there
Since Queen girl
Oh she's proved rare
Cornish Piskie,
Frisk me
Arrest me
Glisten glitter
Blind my gaze
Can't resist to see
Split open apparel
Dizzy me as does Jimi
Screeching and peaking in a purple haze
Precious stone
Clustered diamond
Element formed in golden flame
Gotta shade my eyes to save
Sight to see, pupils in prime
Condition to view you ripe and shine
Voluptuous mahogany, statue in mind
Polished marble, Amazon ripe
Almond smoke, velvet scent
Dusk swept sun, satin night
Will always be, your favourite gent
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
look at all the pretty horses
they go around and around
adorned with silk ribbons
in colors of the rainbow
weaved through their manes
their painted hooves
in gold leaf shimmer
careful not to touch the ground
riding up and down
in complete synergy
with the jeweled poles.
the children squealing with joy
who has the prettiest horse
couples in a world of their own
she sits delicately like a
lady riding sideways
the gent’s heart going pitter patter
looks questioningly into her
eyes that speak of mystery
is she the one who
will come back with his children
to ride the pretty horses
life goes around and around.
all the pretty horses have seen
the same story in a time capsule
but with different faces.
life is a merry go round
with its sparkling lights
shining upon the stage.~~lorilynn
copyright*lorilynn 2010
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 8:20 AM UTC
"Werewolves Of London"
I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain
He was looking for the place called Lee ** Fook's
Going to get a big dish of beef chow mein
Werewolves of London
If you hear him howling around your kitchen door
Better not let him in
Little old lady got mutilated late last night
Werewolves of London again
Werewolves of London
He's the hairy handed gent who ran amuck in Kent
Lately he's been overheard in Mayfair
Better stay away from him
He'll rip your lungs out, Jim
I'd like to meet his tailor
Werewolves of London
Well, I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen
Doing the werewolves of London
I saw Lon Chaney, Jr. walking with the Queen
Doing the werewolves of London
I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's
His hair was perfect
Werewolves of London again
Draw blood
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
he walks in awe, and would curse my interest in night
of clear silence and sighs
at promiscuous men's obsession with purity
within his aspect and his eyes
he looks down to my ******* and I ask him why
to which he replies and typically denies
he caresses those who adore lust and then calls them 'whores' when they are no less
had they been tighter.. but he likes lace?
his hands stroke my raven tress
as he says I am not like the rest
he whispers that he will handle me best
but if I was not pure I know I would be in another place
I stroke his cheek and admire his brow
yet why does this man objectify me as eloquent
so soft? don't reply to my letter. so calm? you haven't met me properly, have you?
deceived by my smile but I am not deceived by yours, o' 'gent'
if only more had visited below
but then again, my heart would still be innocent!
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 1:03 PM UTC
Arise Great Britain, swell wi pride
this is no time tae split, divide,
a hero needs us on his side
a man apart
Brave Osbourne comes wi manly stride
and lion heart
When danger ca’s, he stauns and fights
He’ll haud the baddies bang tae rights
Nou in their een he sees the whites
and yells, “Attack!”
He’s got oor mojo in his sights –
He wants it back!
Let’s cheer his valour tae the roof
Condemn the wans wha’d cry him couff
And pray oor Geordie’s bulletproof
As on he flies
Then fit him wi a parachute
and wave guidbye.
This GM perfect Tory clone
need not rely on un-manned drone
He’ll tackle ISIS on his own
their fight dissolve
His pores squirt pure testosterone
his eyes, resolve
Just watch the baddies turn and flee
as George, wi patriotic glee
wreaks vengeance for democracy
a one-man dojo
And cries, “Come, Britain, flock to me,
and feel my mojo!”
Or mibbes we should check this twice.
Although the image may be nice
The blood we risk on his advice
may never stop -
But Geordie will not sacrifice
one ****** drop
These profiteering pinstripe ******
wha ken no life but politics
Are no the first tae play these tricks
while deals are made
Why no just wave a crucifix
and shout “Crusade!”
So hooses burn and horror grows
A stream o misery outflows
While braggard Geordie struts and crows,
"Ye want a fight?"
I’d dump him on Damascus road
tae see the light
Ye plot the death o innocents
Tae score yir points in parliament
Yir fascist mocking o dissent
it suits ye well
George Osbourne, ye're a proper gent
**** ye tae hell.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC