"scones" poems
En l’an trentiesme do mon aage
Que toutes mes hontes j’ay beues…
Pipit sate upright in her chair
Some distance from where I was sitting;
Views of the Oxford Colleges
Lay on the table, with the knitting.
Daguerreotypes and silhouettes,
Her grandfather and great great aunts,
Supported on the mantelpiece
An Invitation to the Dance.
. . . . .
I shall not want Honour in Heaven
For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney
And have talk with Coriolanus
And other heroes of that kidney.
I shall not want Capital in Heaven
For I shall meet Sir Alfred Mond.
We two shall lie together, lapt
In a five per cent. Exchequer Bond.
I shall not want Society in Heaven,
Lucretia Borgia shall be my Bride;
Her anecdotes will be more amusing
Than Pipit’s experience could provide.
I shall not want Pipit in Heaven:
Madame Blavatsky will instruct me
In the Seven Sacred Trances;
Piccarda de Donati will conduct me.
. . . . .
But where is the penny world I bought
To eat with Pipit behind the screen?
The red-eyed scavengers are creeping
From Kentish Town and Golder’s Green;
Where are the eagles and the trumpets?
Buried beneath some snow-deep Alps.
Over buttered scones and crumpets
Weeping, weeping multitudes
Droop in a hundred A.B.C.’s
10.6k
I like Homestuck,
Donald Duck,
Ancient Greek Gaea,
APH Hetalia,
Marzia and Pewdiepie,
Random bow ties,
Doctor Who,
That colour of greenish blue,
Sherlock Holmes,
Garden gnomes,
Boy/boy ****
Sweet tea,
Left 4 dead,
Books I've read,
Minecraft,
When I laughed,
Yu-Gi-Oh,
Gateau,
Ender's Game,
Notre Dame,
World War One,
World War Two,
Mouse and shrew,
Bugsy Malone,
Jam scones,
Birthday cake,
Milk shake,
Drawing art,
Taking part,
MLP,
Shopping spree,
Sleeping in,
West Berlin,
Random songs,
When bells go ****
Stars shine,
My blood line,
All my friends,
The latest trends,
Yuri much,
And such and such,
Fanfiction,
A prediction,
Doujinshis,
Marshall Lee,
RhymeZone,
My touchscreen phone,
I could go on,
But that's too long,
But my favourite is,
Hello poetry - so don't diss!!
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
For real, keep it on loop
I dig it a lot, like mama’s corn soup
You feelin’ me, hearing that tune
Or maybe I’m in the wrong room
Get up on it, know what I mean
Jammin’ on hot scones with cream
This song needs to tell our life stories
We all have battles forever in our lives
When you hear the sound of pop pop, oh no
Kids gettin’ shot for a pair of shoes in Chicago
Tough neighbourhood street
Corrupt badges on the beat
Planting dope, selling candy at the corner shop
Writing songs, tagging everywhere, if you dare
Doin’ time, enter from behind, I never, I swear
Come out on parole, new king on throne, lost all control
If I had my time again, I’d save a lot more, forget ‘bout toys
Look over my shoulders, stick to the plan, escape from the boys
They aren’t speakin’ our language
Let’s get the hell outta there, somewhere tranquil
Day by day, lets see if we can crack the code
Try placing ones thoughts in a brand new abode
For better or worse, it’s up to you, not your corner crew
We grew up thinking we had to listen, who knew
Step outside the hood, look around, don’t be shy
Then buy a one-way Greyhound ticket, say bye bye
At the start it might feel hard, but give it a chance
You’ll be surprised what you find, just take that first glance
Tough neighbourhood street
Corrupt badges on the beat
Planting dope, selling candy at the corner shop
Writing songs, tagging everywhere, if you dare
Doin’ time, enter from behind, I never, I swear
Come out on parole, new king on throne, lost all control
If I had my time again, I’d save a lot more, forget ‘bout toys
Look over my shoulders, stick to the plan, escape from the boys
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 7:14 AM UTC
Air is perfume-light
Elbows sank in my pillow
I wake from slumber
Chamber door opens
Handmaiden brings good tidings
from outer Kingdoms
Holds a silver tray
With scones, jam and honey for
some chamomile tea
Steaming hot china
which I blow and gently sip
I hum in delight
Come, some scrambled eggs
With toast and ice-cold fresh fruits
Lemon slice in tea
The handmaiden speaks
As she opens the curtains
The sun shines brightly
Many ships have docked
My kingdom grows in strength
and in its beauty
Another handmaid
Holding a tray of pure gold
I see its contents
White and gold letters
Written by your regal hands
Kingdoms near and wide
Handmaids open them
So many sweet messages
Blessings and congrats
While sipping my tea
I ask for my page and quill
Write with golden ink
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC
she sat in the center of her home
becoming the heart of the halls
the blood drifting in and out of
the corridors,
the clot that stood still in the living room
unable to move to the next destination
stuck staring at the dusty painting
that haunted her tendency
to fix that which does not
need fixing,
humming the delicate tune
which ascended into the aorta
of her kitchen,
all the way
to the apex of her attic
and finally folding into itself
like the towels in her
chamber of cabinets,
before unraveling out
through the long vein
of her chimney,
the housewife who
makes a living
with sharpened bread knives
and turning scones into
christmas trees,
who croons ancient love songs
in her infinite spare time,
and i wonder as i
stare at her
from underneath my book
of russian poetry,
how she holds up
when the front door bursts opens
and nature sings
a solo to her heart.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
i just want to disappear
get a chance to eat the warming scones from the oven
and just melt away in stars and sky of navy and grey;
i just want to disappear
to fly and to leave anywhere i want or desire or dream;
i'm dreaming of melting away from where i am
for i am floating already,
why can't i just disintegrate altogether;
altogether
yes a distant memory;
forever alone isn't something you would think of until
it actually happens;
although it's not something you realize unless you've
tried love and
and been scared, afraid of what the
person on the other end of the letters is thinking;
i just want to disappear
far away into the hands of someone who cares
not just about my picture but my pulse,
someone who looks not just at my eyes but at each
individual colouring strand inside
my plain brown eyes;
i just want to disappear so no one will have to face
my retched thoughts and unattainable dreams;
i just want to disappear so my friends won't have
to look at a scared
pathetic
unhappy
awkward
lonely person and have sympathy for me if they even do;
which if i were on the outside of my slinky body
i wouldn't;
i wouldn't just want to leave but disappear for it
seems that it's what i'm best at;
i just want to disappear
from my picturesque world that you couldn't
even take a nice picture in;
i just want to disappear
from my ocean of held back tear,
my shield of fearlessness,
a fake smile that a murderer would wear,
the impression i have on the other lives of people,
and just
i just
want to disappear,
to run away,
and to not have to cause any drama or half broken feelings to anyone,
to not correct people for their non-existent flaws that are really
my own
personal balled up feelings;
i just want to disappear,
fly away into the clouds and heavens of an unreal dream;
i just want to,
i just want to disappear,
disappear
away
fly away
and never come back
never have my flimsy feet touch the beautiful ground
never let my ruined soul harm a single cell of
anyone worth anything to a single thing;
i just want to disappear
i just want to disappea
i just want to disap
i just want
i just
i
- nameless and remaining
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 3:27 PM UTC
If the world turns grey
There we would be
Side by side
Shoulder to shoulder
I don't need popularity
As long as I have you
And you have me
Like a cringy Disney channel theme
I hope we know each other forever
So long that we share cakes and scones
As well as aches In our bones
I don't want to ever lose what we have
You make me want to write cringy poems
You make me who I am
To my best friend...
I just want to say...
No! Your mum the big gay.
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC
teething on the knick in your lip, mind blinded.
seeping through dragonfly wings like syrup sunlight.
you emerge without an egg-tooth. draped in moist.
you loosen the nail in your coffin
with drowsy crowbars
and scones.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Born to an Italian father
and a dreaming,
wide-eyed American,
travel was my fortune,
my life before I chose it.
One late September evening,
my wide-brimmed
velvet hat and I
discovered
what it was to fly.
Surging through moving sculptures
of clouds,
riding the Pan Am night
flight to London,
I was nine, and I was hooked.
Peter Pan was my secret love then.
I had saved my loose tooth
for the English tooth fairy, wishing
and hoping for an English penny.
Scones and bridges from my books
were real now to taste and see.
I began to write then, mostly
in my mind.
That was how I lived then,
and still do.
Finding and forming
words within for everything.
A sacred artesian spring,
i Fonti del Clitunno.
Perfection at Paestum.
Stonehenge,
when one could still
walk among those holy stones.
The early church of Santa Sabina,
whose high windows
transmit light
through membranes of mica.
The abiding silence
of these ancient, sacred places
held me transfixed.
Continuity of time flowed,
like invisible honey,
all around me.
I wanted to taste it with my mind.
Know it with all of my being.
And one day, find the right words.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
It's London, all the time,
when at night I close my eyes,
it's when and where I get to roam and dwell,
in the city I know inside-out so well,
where all the narrow streets and cobbled stones,
teacups, pint glasses, and fresh scones,
lend themselves into the misty English air,
of London's ancient, yet so modern flair,
of Piccadilly, and Hyde Park Corner's box,
riding Black Cabs, or a big Red Double-Bus,
evening gas-lamp walks with ol' Saucy Jack,
fish and chips and shandys for a perfect snack;
then the changing of The Guard at Buckingham,
where native Cockney's and young mums with prams,
gather for a view of Lizzy's Royal Family Show;
but, my, how rich the April sun sets and does glow,
over the rolling raging river Thames of yore,
where ancient Roman armies marched to shore,
proclaimed: LONDINIUM! -the regal rest,
of civilised peoples and the Royal Crests,
where lives and deaths would go and come,
yet The City despite all odds has lost and won,
in the hearts, souls and minds of all who take,
great London as their true hearth and home to stake,
and arise and fall the poet's versing nights and days,
whilst Big Ben chimes his toll in the foggy haze;
and alas, London from my slumber dissipates,
to that of which I yearn and love, asleep or wake,
knowing where my home of soul-keep lies divine:
in London, my dear London; it's London, all the time.
______
London:
http://beautyineverything.com/3366195864
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 7:31 PM UTC
The further I travel
By time or land,
Over the water,
Through the air,
The talk of home
Snaps on my tongue,
Telling strangers of comfort zones:
Like sipping tea,
With jam and scones,
Yet now I sip the air alone,
Thinking of our loose leaf tea,
And the soda bread you baked for me.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
There is nothing quite like a Caramel Apple Thumbprint Scone
I bought two tonight, one for the road and one for home.
Sometimes I buy one for me and one for Mum,
Didn’t bother to tell her I ate them both…every… last… crumb.
Tonight on my way home I decide to buy a baker’s dozen
The trouble with that is I ate six and got an upset stomach
Now here I sit upon this throne, tootin’ and thinking all alone
That there’s nothing like a Caramel Apple Thumbprint Scone….hic!
K.E. Carman
2017
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 5:10 PM UTC
it's not me
pushing you
away except
it actually is me
it's the kind of
morning that the
wind is blowing
just right so that
the open flag
flutters in front
of the window
where i can see it
the kind of morning
i don't need coffee
and i try not to
think about
it too
much
*(i just wanted to
be the girl in
an owl city song)*
pacing back and
forth in straight
lines and gritting
my teeth against
an onslaught of
small town gunfire
*(i'll bet annmarie
never had scars
or scratches
brielle didn't cry
and shake for
hours thinking
how to end it all
it turned out
okay for anna
and vienna probably
knew how to dance
between the snowflakes
and underneath her regret)*
i've never been good at
drowning out thoughts
they just get louder the
longer time rolls on
good at rolling out
cookie dough and
good at drowning
in dishwater when
the brownie batter's
baking and the bowl
needs washing when
nobody's looking
*(i've had moments
here and there in golden
sneakers and navy blue
lace covered dresses
but i'm not the girl
in an owl city song
not something worth
writing dreamy poems
about not so lovestruck you
replace your words with dada)*
girls like me wear flannel
khaki too much day old
eyeliner too many day old
scones have half heads of weird
colored hair and spend valentines
day alone watching tv
so maybe why i'm bitter
as the inside of a lemon is
that i'll never be able to change
to someone drenched in verbena
spinning through the sunny
skies between your fingers
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC
Latte and scone please
Henry said
with jam and cream?
the barista said
no jam or cream
Henry said
just plain
the barista said
I like scones
but I love them
with cream and jam
she looked at Henry
plenty of cream
he smiled
yes cream has it's place
I guess
he said
she poured his latte
and placed a scone on a plate
and took his money
and gave him change
yes sometimes cream
makes it special
she said smiling
he carried his tray
to his table
and sat and stirred his latte
and spooned off
the top cream
and eyed her
as she served
the following customer
she was an Italian
(the barista)
who spoke good English
and had the darkest of eyes
and black curly hair
the scone was good
and he enjoyed each mouthful
without jam or cream
and he captured in mind
the barista
for his night-long dream.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
The Frog and The Bee and the Mouse with the House lived together in peace and harmony on the River Louse.
One day the Mouse with the house did declare it was time that he moved out of there.
The Frog and The Bee did not agree and set about convincing the Mouse with the House that he needed to stay on the River Louse.
They sent out invitations to all around to attend tea at half past three.
The tea party was in honour of the Mouse with the house to be held on the banks of the River Louse and hosted by his dear friends The Frog and The Bee.
One by one each creature replied and the guest list rose quickly to Twenty Five.
The Frog and The Bee decided the tea would be civil indeed and The Frog made some scones and The Bee made some honey.
At half past one The Frog and The Bee set up some tables to lay out the tea.
At half past two the tables were laid with the scones from The Frog and The honey The Bee had made.
The scene did look grand, pots of tea and saucers of milk all laid on a tablecloth made of silk.
At half past three the guests started to arrive.
The first of the guests to arrive were The Elf with one ear and The Fly with one eye. The Mouse was delighted to see his friends, the ones who helped get Horse around the river bend.
Next came the Horse and his Master of course to thank the Mouse with the House on the River Louse for his friendship and help on the day that the Horse could not get around the river bend and the Mouse with the House, The Elf with one ear, The Fly with one eye, The Frog and The Bee all pulled together and worked merrily to assist the Horse round the river course.
One by one others did attend, there was a duck who lost his cluck but the Mouse with the House helped him every day until he could at last say "cluck cluck"
Next came a ****** who had forgotten how to weave but the Mouse with the House lay out the sticks until the Beavers memory began to tick and the ****** remembered how to weave.
Then came a beautiful Butterfly with bright red wings. She told the Frog and The Bee that one day the Mouse had found her crying and sighing her wings had faded and she did not look grand a thing of beauty. The Mouse ran back to his House and in his shed found a can that had Paint in Red on the side. He took a brush and painted her wings and now the Butterfly all shiny and bright flapped her wings with all her might.
Last but not least the Mayor arrived with his glorious wife by his side.
Mayor and Mayoress Swan did agree that the Mouse with the House should not leave his friends of The River Louse and they would indeed miss him dearly if he relocated his house.
The Mouse smiled embarrassingly and said "I am sorry he did declare, there's been a mix up, when I said" I must get out of there" it was only to the shops I intended to go but The Frog and The Bee moved too fast or I moved to slow"
The Frog and The Bee and all the guests were all delighted with the news and brought in some music supplied by "Five in a Pen" which of course were all mother Hens and they danced all night until the Moon went in and the Sun came out.
Then the Frog and The Bee said to their friend the Mouse "let's do this again next year, and Mouse can bake cake for the tea, our friends can attend and we'll dance all night to Five in a Pen and we'll eat scones and honey and cake too and we'll do this in honour of all our friends and those who live and work on the River bend"
THE END
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 5:08 AM UTC
winter has crept from it's cathedral with it's blue loom of white sod
against black crows and over-coats. we awaken in our separate pause
and modify our crumpets with thin icing,
drizzled over moon faced scones -
as golden as your marmoset of port wine
and wrinkled wheels of cheese...
at a moment's notice.
you float through the open window where crescendo the crisp winds and the bacon fats
rendering in the musk of firewood, oaking the nose of the decanted day
the early hearth of heaven, now powder blushed and rustle thrum
with skylarks larking in the luminous icebox
of barely sunrise.
your eyes sparkle and my antlers score the aspen bark
on a lost acre of our thickening plot.
we love a lot.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
Today I write an ode to Joe’s
Procurator, seller, and trader
For my better half it is your coffees
For me, your store entire, for
Your bounty fills my refrigerator
Treasures spicy from India, Japan
Brought to us by your Trader San
From south of the border
Travel goodies galore-a
Compliments of Trader Jose
Then there’s Trader Giotto from Italy
Without a doubt, his yummies call me
There are Jo-Jo’s, curries, oh cho-co-late sweet
And did I mention lotions for feet
There is Pilgrim Joe’s and Trader Ming’s
Who bring to us the finer things
The wines, the drinks, the healthy oils
I dream at night of all your spoils
By way of mention, I cannot forget
Baker Josef who serves to us
Tasty bagels, delicious baguettes
Arabian Joe’s and Joseph Brau
Bring us falafels and rings in our beer
Oh, Trader Johann's and Trader Jacques'
For bodies clean and lips that are fresh
Your Joe's Kids keep mummy's happy
Trader Darwin's help us all stay healthy
Did I, could I, miss anyone?
Don’t want to leave out even one
Your marinated meats, your frozen treats
From Diner Joe’s there are lunches quick
For us working stiffs, his heat-n-eats
Oh, pumpkin scones and cereal O’s
I should not forget your sample bar
Where tastys await to test for my plate
And did I say how amazing you are?
While others sell just fluff and stuff
Of your yummy goodness
I cannot get enough
So if one day soon the Joe’s disappear
I’ll not fret, no i’ll not fear
On me for sure you can count the cause
Right down to your last breadcrumb
For shelves will be bursting in my garage
Where I'll be holding them all, without ransom
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
Autumn in New Zealand is a masterpiece on canvas
Patternings of goldens and bright rose hips in their beds,
Copses of coniferous in deep and darkly avenues
To the brilliance of a country lane awash with leafy reds.
Chimney fires are smoking in the rural country cottages
The warming glow of lanterns in the windows as I pass,
A tantalising whiff of hot buttered scones is wafting
And somewhere in the distance I can hear a red deer bark.
Strolling by the lakeside in the early morning stillness
My breathing fogs before me in the chillness of the air,
Rowan trees glow scarlet and the naked ***** willow
Has shed her golden carpet on the emerald hillock there.
Rushes rattle softly in the mistyness of lowlands
Treeeferns in their glory of silver filagree,
Sparrows ruffle feathers to insulate the coolness
As wheeling flocks of starling mass to migrate to be free.
Gossamer as fairy dust the thistledown is floating
A harbinger of autumn leaves and freezing frost to come,
Those Coriollis forces are determining the changeling
Where the snowy days approaching means the Autumn tones are done.
Marshalg
27 April 2013
In rural Pukekohe.
New Zealand
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
English tea and scones with cream.
A cigarette dangles from his lips. The blonde-haired girl watches as the smoke rises. Between them a newspaper sits upon the table.
They have stopped to peruse their purchases:
The Bletchley code-breaker story always enthralls, and John Lennon never grows old.
Smoke rings continue to rise, eventually to fade away .
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
We polished the brass door knocker
And
Swept the front door step
When the Sailor came to tea
We laid the table with our finest cloth
And
We set the table with the prettiest fine bone china
When the Sailor came to tea
We served scones with jam and cream
And
We made sandwiches of all shapes and sizes
When the Sailor came to tea
We invited our relatives from afar
And
We invited our friends too
When the Sailor came to tea
We served Champagne with lots of fizz
And
We served Orange juice too
When the Sailor came to tea
We talked about interesting things of the day
And
We danced to, the beat of the latest music
When the Sailor came to tea
We felt the love in the room
And
We felt the love in our hearts
When the Sailor came to tea
I was delighted to be there
As
You see it had been 4 long years since my brother the Sailor last came to tea
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
Angry looking man,
Stressing over his weak coffee,
Makes him feel vulnerable,
Caffeine helps him dictate,
As sharp as his suit,
Lessened by his gait,
Waitress not impressed,
His twitching brings her nausea,
The smell of coffee,
Affecting her hangover,
Public toilet looks appealing,
No time for tissue,
The new lovers, one wears a ring,
The other wants his wife's,
His money appeals,
He drives a fiat,
Full of bravado,
Is silenced at home,
Crying child,
False smile hides mothers stress,
Child irritated by coffee house walls,
Grandmother knows best,
New methods to raise,
As flat as the coffee house scones,
Elderly man sitting with his paper,
Keeping warm,
Same drink is now cold,
Watching the world go by,
David Attenborough in his head,
Two weeks to live,
And I’m happier than them all.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:48 AM UTC
Off to 'The Orchard' for afternoon tea
Beautiful and quaint, filled with history
Rupert Brooke, the poet, started the trend
Taking tea in the garden 'til the days end
Virginia Woolf, a writer, with a troubled mind
Enjoyed the bonds of friendship with a group so kind
It goes as far back as the year 1897
Cambridge students found a pocket of heaven
Blossoming fruit trees arranged in rows
Scattered seating, cushions and colourful throws
Crumbling moist Scones with jam and cream
Carrot Cake and Cordial an Elderberry dream
Horses in the distance and cows by your side
Cool Emerald grass where the insects hide
A wander by the river hand in hand
The most peaceful day that ever was planned
I visited The Orchard yesterday, a most gorgeous place. I hope this poem gives you a picture of this idyllic little corner of England x
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
She whispers something to him, my name uttered under guarded breath,
He disappears then returns with pills in his hand that i ought to swallow,
I oblige.
We spend an evening together with floating minds,
And busy hands.
I brought round two types of cheese for us,
She had a third
So we made scones,
Triple cheese scones,
And discussed the state of our lives.
In the lounge lyric-less music spills out from a speaker,
And they sit around adsorbed by the melodies.
He stands and goes to the *****
One they found for fifty bucks in a second hand store.
He presses a key and listens to it joining the notes already airborne.
Another stands and joins him.
They play along with the music,
Making it up as they go,
The third bangs his hands on the table, a make do drum set.
We remember our baking in time,
And it is not burnt when we take it from the oven.
The boys leave their music and join us in eating.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
party zone with johnny brown
johnny’ hi dudes and welcime to the 2nd party zone for 2016 and tonight we are going
to party real hard and our first party dude is lorraine
lorraine’ i want to be so happy
i want to be so cool
i want to drink scotch on the rocks following a lovely bbq
i am very happy as happy as can be
i don’t know why i am so happy
i only know i am, party on dudes
johnny’ yeah you look like you are ready to party tonight
lorraine’ it’s the end of the working week, why not
johnny’ ok here is patric weezer
pattrick’ one sheep two fish red fish blue fish
going ba ba ba every ****** where
five sheep six sheep silver sheep black sheep
you see it’s hard to become the black sheep of the family
nine fish ten fish isn’t that a dainty dish
to put before prince william on the way to buckingham palace today
eleven fish twelve fish
i wonder who i will find at the party for my best mate tom
it’s fine to have fish, especially down the coast with chips
johnny’ are you creative
patrick’ yeah, i am an artist and a writer and a youtube entertainer, i am cool
johnny’ ok here is harry with a great rhyme
dave bought a honday for his best friend rhonda
to make her pretty wealthy
dave bought a honda
and he will make it a party
yeah, we will get down and boogie and say oh lay
hey little old lady
pretty pretty baby
saying
dave bought a honda for his aunty flo who went home to make pumpkin scones for joh
but joh didn’t want any cause he ws too right wing
dave bought a honda from adelaide and every night we say dave bought a honda for everyone around oh dude
johnny’ yeah what a great one, but your choice of politicians, ya know a bit old and dead
harry’ yeah, but i am 56 years old and i still want to party
johnny’ here is another party song from kenneth
kenneth’ 16 pounds to buy a car with
it is a very cheap car if it costs that much
a dollar bill to buy a car mat
cause it really protects your car floor
and aussie cent ain’t around anymore, cause it can’t afford anything no fear, so chuck it away my friend
a japanese coin is a wonderful coin
i notice how there is a hole in the middle, to stick your finger in, yeah
$16 is a lot ya see
you could buy an expensive tub of honey from the bee
so if you spend all this money now
just remember the tune from hello in the ‘80s with oh yeah bow bow
johnny’ thank you kenneth
kenneth, yeah, and i am ready to pardddy, now party dudes, have the best hangover cure if you are totally wasted tomorrow
johnny’ thank you kenneth and thanks dudes for enjoying party zone
catch ya later dudes
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 6:11 AM UTC