"mace" poems
feed me with your flavor
fill me with your taste
let your fragrance be my mace
get me tongue tied until my mouth is laced
with that taste of the paste
between your pearly gates;
seal my fate
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 10:04 PM UTC
To expel intestinal gases through the ****
The definition makes it sound kinda heinous.
Whether you pass wind or pass gas,
either way it comes out your ***
Farts are loud and some silent but deadly,
you can make it sound like a medley.
Farts are cool and sometimes funny,
lookout for ones that become runny.
Some like to **** in your face,
it may cause pink eye,
and sting like mace.
Farts can smell and usually bad,
must be a duck, says your dad.
I have farts that never stink,
although some were on the brink.
Dog farts will make you take cover,
the smell lingers and starts to hover.
Woman never ****
but watch out when they do,
it can be brutal,
once their comfortable with you.
If in certain places you must hold it in,
farting in church is considered a sin.
A good **** can make you feel good,
its part of life and fully understood.
Every **** deserves a smile or a giggle,
don't forget to give your *** a shake or a wiggle.
For ones who think farting is disgusting,
I bet your ******* needs a good dusting.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
"Grow up tall,
little kid,"
said grandpa Joe.
And so I did.
The watermelon grow tall too.
The sunflowers look to the sky,
keeping their chins up,
raised real high.
So maybe it's silly,
watching grass grow,
but if you never try,
how could you ever know?
So maybe it's crazy,
chanting for the rain,
but if it never comes,
how could I grow the grain?
I'd prefer to stare at clouds,
than sleep forever like a rock,
skidding by life.
Why, that would just ****
So, if you ask me to leave this here place,
you better shove it,
before you wake up
in an unknown space,
tied up with lace,
with a disfigured face,
completely full of mace,
and a strange case
of something poisonous.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
There just isn't enough febreeze
to rid the room of the haze
Of a dog **** strong and silent
It kind of puts you in a daze
It kind of sneaks in, then it hits you
An olfactory h-bomb in your face
Meanwhile, he just lies there
He's wiped the room with **** mace
There is no middle ground here
They always smell like something died
Like he caught a squirrel in the garden
Now, it's rotting his insides
Dog farts, are a weapon
That our army has not used
In fact I told them in a letter
In their reply, they were amused
"We've tried to duplicate it"
"A killer weapon... stops the heart"
"But, our scientists just aren't able"
"To reproduce a strong dog ****
"Thank you for your consideration"
"We'll let you know, if we succeed"
"We agree with your kind letter"
"dog farts escape and then they breed"
Sometimes when a dog farts
It makes a noise, he turns around
"my god, I smell incredible"
is the look comes from my hound
So, if you've never smelled a dog ****
And your dog just sneaks one out
Do yourself a favour
Do not feed him brussel sprouts.
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC
-This is Nigeria,
Where Cattle’s fly their terrorism flag,
Stumping on humtydumpty green white green.
-This is Nigeria
Where corrupt QWERTY and busy ******
Puts food on the table of unemployed youths.
-This is Nigeria
Where clerics find paradise on earth
Lo! followers live as church rats withal.
-This is Nigeria
Where Eve plotted against a serpent
Hm! Mrs Philomena and her fairytale animal.
-This is Nigeria
Where Sundays are full of bibles and Qurans,
Yet her body stinks in poo of immorality.
-This is Nigeria
Where the mace is a mess in her house
As senators sleeps and vacate seats in a hearing.
-This is Nigeria
Where in Nigeria
We are looking for Nigeria.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
I am fat
like an overused ****
If you need some crack
gimme some smack
and ill make you lick my *****
until my *** goes splat.
All over your face
please put away the mace
I only want to *** on your sister's face.
I **** at poems
I hate America
the next chance i get
ill give it back to the Cherroka.
This will not rhyme
I hate poetry.
its only for dumbfucks who want to drink coffee with hipsters and lick obamas *****
I love black people and my ***** is gigantic. Goodbye :D I still hate Titanic.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
May I present a challenge?
Imagine if you will
You have created a flying explosive device
And it needs a name that will thrill.
A name, a good name, which name?
Well, none of those below.
Some twisted suits have already used them.
**** EVEN Tacit Rainbow.
What really goes through their minds?
As they sit and discuss the name
Of their creation that's destined to ****
Butcher, destroy and maim.
Just try if you can
To read the whole of this edited list
Imagine how many have exploded of each
With out angrily clenching your fist
Little John
Honest John
Hellfire
Matador
HARM
Terrier
Nike-Ajax
Corporal
Sea Sparrow
Redstone
Bullpup
Mace
Nike-Hercules
Regulus II
Atlas
Thor
Lacrosse
Jupiter
Quail
Hawk
Tartar
Falcon
Polaris
Hound Dog
Pershing
Entac
Firebee
Shelduck
Jayhawk
Cardinal
Firefly
Petrel
Redhead/Roadrunner
Redeye
Mauler
Skybolt
Nike Zeus/Spartan
Condor
Phoenix
Typhon MR
Falconer
Overseer
Taurus
Kingfisher
Cardinal
Walleye
Hornet
Maverick
Big Q
Minuteman
Blue Eye
Viper
Firebolt
Bulldog
Harpoon
Focus
Perseus
Firefly
Stinger
Compass Dwell
B-Gull
Agile
Seekbat
Delta Dagger
Thunderbolt[7]
Patriot
Aquila
Teleplane
Streaker
Tomahawk
Firebrand
Roland
Peacekeeper
Penguin
Pave Tiger/Seek Spinner
Sidearm
Skipper
Wasp
Sea Lance
Ripper[7]
Trident II
Midgetman
Tacit Rainbow
Pave Cricket
Have Nap
Peregrine
Exdrone
Javelin
Pointer
Hunter
Coyote
Skeeter
Outlaw
Wow, you're still reading
And you've managed not to throw up.
Just wondering how many innocent victims
Of a tax funded device called Bullpup.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
this is just another ******* **** poem
why just another **** poem?
you sit there and think
why talk about this so often
when the economy is collapsing
and children are starving
and there's a possibility of a
world war 3?
but guess what ******
this poem isn't for you
its for those who's souls have been
tied down and beaten
for those who have lost all hope
for those who have been told that its
"all their fault"
to them, this poem isn't
just another ******* **** poem
it is their savior poem
the one thing that points
out the ****** up things
like double standards
and victim blaming
it may give them the
push that will break the ropes
that hold their souls down
this is the poem that will
restore hope for those who have
given up because society has
given up them and tossed them away
like a used ******
and I will continue writing other
******* **** poems
until my mother stops telling me
to not forget my mace
until I dont have to pay for 500$
self defense classes, on the off chance that hey,
maybe I wont be ***** tonight.
until im not blamed for being attacked
until my ****** is not pitted for his
football carer being ended prematurely
until I can dress like a **** and get home safely
I will continue writing **** poems
until I have nothing ******* left
to write about
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
All I do is win, for I'm an Ace
Painting a bulls-eye on everyone in the place
In my plane I leave everyone else
bailing out of the fight in disgrace
If I was a horseman, I'd be War
'Cuz like the card game
I win against Kings and Queens
and take them out of the deck
like the Joker on the sidelines, alone and bored.
I don't need a Diamond to win you Heart,
and I don't wanna join your Club,
this was skill and not luck from the very start
I am the Ace of Spades,
and I'll use my ***** to dig out your graves
I've been painted on the sides of planes
cars and trains
helicopters, submarines,
and the munitions that deal out the pain
I'm a trick shot Ace with the pool stick
As a quarterback, I've yet to throw a pick
As a pitcher, I make the other team sick
The starter and the backup plan
the Ultimate Ace in the Hole
The best card in a poker hand
lay me down and the money's in the bag
I run solo, streaking across the land
You only need to hold me in your hand
and your enemies will become ****
and I'll give 'em a taste
of this whirling dervish's mace
Leave them breathless upon the ground
as I rob the air from out of this place
you'll stand in awe of my greatness
take a picture, make a statue
Fill up every empty space with my name
For I am an Ace!
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 2:39 AM UTC
I love da sound ya ***** does make
While slapping up against your sister, for Christ sake
Watching you all doing the ***** deed, doggy style
On ya momma's brand new, multi coloured **** pile
***** young boys, are forever slapping, keepin’ it real
While viewing ya ***** in ya year nine, high school classes
Even some curious gals, like to slip in a quick feel
While flashing their hallway entry, fancy gold passes
Da sound ya ***** makes, ya must be using an amplifier
With a **** load of flaming, boom-boom, bass
Next time though, try turning the treble up, as you were
And turning down that flaming bass, just in case
This mornin’, I woke up stiff, like feelin’ as if dead
Then flicked through the paper, my obituary, I just read
Didn't feel that great, after we had finished the missionary
Wish I was much more aware, like a future visionary
I haven't even ironed my clothes or done my face
For my very last day of this bright sunlight
Will I need to pack a jumbo suitcase
Or maybe just some shorts and thongs
On my mystery vacation, one-way flight
Da sound ya ***** was making when shaking
Was maybe way too loud for some, last night
It put me in, like a clothes dryer spin
Police came by, just to check that no one was pranking
With some spray with mace, just when I was about to sin
Everyone's got an unusual craze in life
Mine just happened to put me in a daze
Should've taken a much deeper breath
When going down between ya momma's thighs
Send flowers to my ******* and hoes
And never ever forget, ya ****** nice ways
Always tried to satisfy the whole **** world
But still hearing some sad **** woes
I like da sound ya ***** makes
Reminds me of some ole dance tracks
Played by the DJ, named Georgie O’Kay
While everyone dances to a beat
I'm hard at work, while trying to get ya
To get down lower and pretend to be ya momma.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
Have you ever been angry?
So angry you've scared yourself.
Because for a second you saw that face staring back from within.
An immense depth fast approaching.
So absent of light the only reason you caught a glimpse was those eyes.
Beaming back at you with illumination so frightening your core began to shudder and rumble.
Crumbled down and watched this beast claw its way out.
Over rock and mortar. Through coarse cage of steel.
Those cold eyes staring down - helplessly watching.
This beast was once kept sealed.
Who gave it this key to destruction.
This shapeless fluid in motion soulless tragedy.
Black velvet drape dipped in fiery energy.
Pure hate which had been compressed for eternity.
Now concentrated and intent on wreaking havoc.
I sent my armies. I sent them all.
Countless deaths and yet I sent more.
Quick slaughter - not the painless type.
This beast they could not stall.
Thrashes of bodies. Clawed and torn.
Festering flesh flying from fallen.
Axe, Sword and Mace soaked,
dripping in warm fresh blood-pounding hate.
Shatters of armor and unrecognizable corpses.
What do I do?
It seeks me as a vessel - to be worn.
I can feel the hate changing me.
Quickly now or I'll soon deform.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 11/3/2019
My homeland - dear land,
where for the first time I saw the sun
and where I came to know God;
Where my father, brothers and mother kind
taught me prayers in my maternal tongue.
My homeland - villages and cities,
planted from the times of Piasts among Lechic fields;
Rivers, forests, flowery leas and meadows,
where larks sing their sweet songs of hope.
My homeland - our forefathers' glory,
Chrobry's Notched Sword and Cecora Mace,
Knightly Spirit, noble and brave,
bitter defeats and victories great.
My homeland - quiet green fields
for centuries trampled by hostile armies,
burial mounds and sad graves
that have covered our freedom defenders.
My homeland - heroic spirit of the Polish people,
that by miracle lives amid hunger and cold;
- hope that always blooms in hearts,
with work for the fathers, and song for the young!
Maria Konopnicka (1842-1910)
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 11:32 AM UTC
Oh, I have never looked so good
running in armor thru the woods
Adept with blade or mace
And I know a little magic
which for foes is rather tragic
(it’s a perk for my race)
Be it mountain peak or ocean swell
thru rocky hill and grassy dell
nothing slows my pace
Many Quests I need to finish
there’s Evil I must diminish
(And weapons to replace)
Every belonging I have owned
I have bartered, won or stole
Hording gold just in case
I’m constantly slashed, bashed and burned
by dragons, wildlife and Curs
with no fear on my face
Though I have skills that get me by
There are occasions that I’ve died
Thank god for the last “save”
I will keep right on playing
leveling buy quests and slaying
in my CGI escape
January 2012
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 3:18 AM UTC
I look with worried eyes, at social Vines, of flashing lights and a lack of rights.
Human compassion is lacking where it needs to be.
Hate feeds off of hate,
but if thats all it takes,
then **love should come so easily.**
Bashing in windows.
Spraying with mace.
Choking to death.
Eliminating race.
Classes are gone,
So classless mistakes,
are now made daily
at the hastiest rate.
We’re starving and hungry for the tastiest taste,
of what has become the most delicious
most suspicious,
vicious,
fishy,
repetitious,
superstitious,
vision named freedom.
It's naive to think we’re free when all that we see,
is a sea of beings not being one thing,
and that’s free.
When was the last time you felt it?
And we’ve been given a life long song and dance of "whoever smelt it dealt it".
So if you took the feeling of now and held it,
bottled it up and shelved it,
you would open up to find your mind in decline.
This moment was better
while laters behind.
Thats the path that we’re on
but we have control.
We’re not egos and clothes,
we’re people of souls
We're humans of thought
Not students of hate.
Evil got a head start,
but now truth is in the race.
And if truth is in your face,
and you choose to look away,
then get used to the abuse
and not confused at truce-less fates.
The pre action of action is thinking to act.
I'm thinking that actually we’re ready to snap.
They’ve bent us too far,
for us to go back.
The past is a place where patterns attack.
And people are put
no matter the facts.
Police are afoot
demanding the last,
of freedoms they take them,
and **** them with gas.
A historical scene on Kentucky blue grass
these colors don't bleed,
yet we see they fade fast.
We’ve exceed the need,
to keep things intact.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
seedy motels crowded with undesirables
shooting up
smoking ****
toothless ******** for a fix
welcome to America
home of the brave
and the crack den
what a beautiful country ours is
majestic purple mountains
slick black tar ******
amber waves of grain
skid row and soup kitchens
the struggle to survive
we fight to stay alive
land of the free
but free has hidden fees
free love?
Aids'll stop ya
free health care?
Get out you ****** *******
free speech?
Only if you don't mind mace
Here the dom in freedom means **********
********** of the free
we go through it all like marionettes
glassy eyed and blank faces
our strings pulled by wealthy men
we become older and older until death
and don't forget the debt
that will be your children's problem
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
Women have so much to fear these days
We learn that when we're walking to our car in the dead of night
We should have our key jammed between our fingers in the fist of one hand
Poised as a weapon
And a jar of mace in the other
We learn to take catcalls as compliments
We learn that it is our fault if we get *****
Because when people hear about it, the words that should cross their lips--
"Is she okay?"
"Is the attacker doing time?"
--don't
Instead we hear "What was she wearing?"
Because if we dress a little less provocative
Maybe they will target someone else
Because we asked for this to happen
We are all learning the wrong way about everything
Instead of "ask consent" it's "don't get *****
Instead of "be respectful" it's "you should be flattered"
Instead of "don't attack someone" it's "protect yourself"
Does society not see how backwards this it?
Instead of preventing the crime altogether, it's "make sure it's someone else"
Because if it's not us, it's not happening
We say "ignorance is bliss"
But really ignorance is being stupid enough to think, over and over
It won't happen to me
It won't happen to me
It won't happen to me
Because it can
It can happen to anyone
At any time
And we need to try our ******* best to stop it
Because she didn't dress that way for you
And she most certainly didn't ask for it
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
DEFINITION OF *****
I question your gimmick
Lame limericks
Their cryptic
More mystic
Unrealistic
Ya ****** it
On chronic
Contagious like the bubonic
Hooked hydroponics
Pathetically neurotic
So drop it
your **** ain't ****
Just tragically prosthetic
Prophetical ********
You think that u know ****
You blow it
Thats classic.
CUZ YOUR THE DEFINITION OF *****
YOU'VE LOST ONE TOO MANY A STITCH
ITS WHY ALL YOU SPEW IS SOME ****
MAY AS WELL BE A SNITCH
YOU SO REFINED AS A *****
Its 101 basic
I didn't quit this
You lost it
Worth only Drunken kisses
I'm pretty when you chase it
Your too shallow to accept it
Together we're right
But my body ain't tight
To ur likes
its your ****
That's a *****
Only looks for them tricks
Your dellusionally idiotic
To think that ya got it
When trix are for kids
Your games hit and miss
Happily ever afters not bliss
First loves kiss is just a playlist
CUZ YOUR THE DEFINITION OF *****
YOU'VE LOST ONE TOO MANY A STITCH
ITS WHY ALL YOU SPEW IS SOME ****
MAY AS WELL BE A SNITCH
YOU SO REFINED AS A *****
You Can't find love in this mess
Be a girl wear a dress
Listen more talk less
Don't change who you are
Just your flesh
Tell the truth is said to me
Love was free for the taking
Or so I believed
Your lies used as feed
But your pet I am not
Yeah I guess you forgot
What yo ma shoulda taught
That one shots all life's got
CUZ YOUR THE DEFINITION OF *****
YOU'VE LOST ONE TOO MANY A STITCH
ITS WHY ALL YOU SPEW IS SOME ****
MAY AS WELL BE A SNITCH
YOU SO REFINED AS A *****
The good bits stole away
By this crap game you play
All day, you just sway
On your way
Thinking your owed
By some ****** up code
But your method or mode
Is about to explode
Like mace
In your face
With no trace
Your erased
You ain't even today
Your the past, Yesterday
Can't change that
My ma used to say
Just look for tomorrow
in your ARKs of today
CUZ YOUR THE DEFINITION OF *****
YOU'VE LOST ONE TOO MANY A STITCH
ITS WHY ALL YOU SPEW IS SOME
****
YOU MAY AS WELL BE A SNITCH
THATS WHY YOU'LL ALWAYS BE *****
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
your ears were by far your best feature
they could deflect all my nervous trifles and absorb the jokes no one else got, the confessions I whispered through the phone, and the significance of being on the other end
(please remember)
I am not compiling a list of clichés with which to barricade the door when loneliness knocks
This is not a love song,
so please don’t use those ears to search for one
those ears were second only to your tongue
it possessed the unique ability to mold sound into exactly what I needed to believe
the confessions it sculpted
and glazed with calculated vulnerability fit so comfortably in my ear
that tongue was a love song and a mace rolled into one
(please remember)
not to use it to sing my praises, and I’ll grant you the same courtesy
your feet are so beautiful, too
the elegance with which they propelled you into someone else’s day dreams was inspired
with a screech, your tires left me reveling in exhaust
the fumes choking me, I never got a chance to say
that coffee from the place you used to-
we
used to like
is bitter now
it tastes the way goodbye did as it rolled off my tongue and chased your retreating back
I add more sugar
but the clinking of the spoon echoes the “I love yous” whispered to someone else
the sound fits in her ear the way your hand used to fit in mine
the spaces between my fingers now resemble apartments whose tenants have been evicted
the landlord hardened by rejection wears a coat sewn from the time and wears a mustache curled into the shape of desire
these lonely flats are plagued with shadows
(that’s what happens when the sun is so **** close you can taste it, but there’s something else in the way)
(please remember)
this is not a love story
(please remember)
I don’t want you back
I want coffee that won’t stain my smile
I want my favorite songs not to be harmonized by the sound of your breathing
I want my posture not to sing a Taylor Swift song and
I desperately want not to be the girl writing you poetry
(the kind that you would never listen to anyway)
your ears were by far your best feature
everything else is blurry to me now
I can’t picture your edges anymore, or differentiate where they separate from mine
Your ears were second only to your tongue
Your feet are so beautiful, too
With a screech, your tires left me reveling in exhaust
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?
Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,
Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
As a child I dabbled in ******
No barbie was safe from the hands of their god
Ran hills caked to the toe
Roughed terrain with neighborhood boys
They called me girl
But I felt boy
Upon later years I learned:
Dress
Skirt
Bra
Flower
Amenities accustomed to this body;
A bustling street of hormones without a
red light
Next were *******
Wild & rambling, I soon
Mastered the art of shrinking
I kissed my first boy & felt it rattle through my bones
His hair an ocean in my hands as I rose up
to the surface
Later I discovered the shared experience of Woman,
Shifting about the world as a silly metaphor
Carved fingers into mace & metal
Ankles clinking busily on a subway platform
In learning to fight
The young boy dwindled into memory and
I couldn’t sense shape anymore
Fell in and out of love with woman and man alike,
Sinking deep into salt & sand
These days I can’t help but wonder if
attraction is a mode of defense
Or that of love
These days I run hills in heels
Caked to the toe in color
--
c
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
You say I'm a terrible person
Because I always lie
You say you wish I were dead
But I never cry
You think you can control me
Even against my will
You can't even budge me
For I am always still
I haven't got the time
For you to wave your finger in my ******* face
You won't ever get a reaction
Even if that grimy finger were mace
I never ******* hear you
I always tune you out
So please, just shut the hell up
There's no need to shout
My mind is somewhere else
For I have long left this hell
But still, sometimes I miss you
And I hope you're doing well
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
I-AM-NOT-A-DOG.
Today,
I cut loose from your leash of degrading comments.
My ears have learned to ignore your whistles
and the only thing I am going to fetch
is my dignity.
We all have cracks.
People’s words creep into our most foreign parts
And bother us like gnats in our food.
However,
At a young age my mom welded me by hand.
Sealed off every corner so
Your undignified vernacular wouldn’t disturb my peace.
Your mother must’ve had deleterious effects on you.
She told you that love can only be found through intertwining genitals.
I have iron fists and your forcefulness will not supersede my strength to protect what I own.
Let me tell you sir,
Obeying men is an archaic practice
And I wasn’t born yesterday.
I endure life with fortitude even with the threat of your loaded fist 2 inches from my face.
Your catcalls sting like the hearts of mother’s who have lost their daughter’s to the streets.
I hold my mace like a loaded gun walking in the petrifying night.
Apparently big butts lie, they give you the impression that you can squeeze, but back off the anatomy.
Remember that all women embody beauty and grace, not for you, but for themselves.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
Nothing to be gained but new land
Seven hours, easily more than I could stand
A journey across
A province that's lost
Its history left on the sand
Awake in a desolate place
With memories left to erase
New ones I am seeking
Without retreating
To a concrete city of mace
Perhaps I have been here before
Maybe in dreams, maybe in lore
A fleeting romance
And a ticket by chance
So my feet will land back on the shore
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 8:23 PM UTC
I was at the top of the world
the highest of highs
but with one simple message
you said your goodbyes
so now I'm shaken
hurt down to the core
fall down onto my knees
and slam my fists on the floor
because I know that
you love your ex so much more
than you could ever love me that's for sure
yes I gave you my heart
knowing you would keep it safe
but I was wrong you broke it
like an empty *** vase
so now the tears fall down like
I got sprayed with some mace
and now my heart is going
crazy in such a frantic race
no I never thought a person
could feel the way I do
heart is broken
but still in love with you
I just want so bad
for us to begin again
but I'm afraid that it won't
I'm afraid this is the end.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
"Tout aux tavernes et aux filles."
Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your ***
How do you melt the multy swag?
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
Pad with a slang, or chuck a ***
Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
You can not bank a single stag;
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Suppose you try a different tack,
And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
Or with the mummers mug and gag?
For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
At any graft, no matter what,
Your merry goblins soon stravag:
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
THE MORAL
It's up the spout and Charley Wag
With wipes and tickers and what not.
Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
2.6k