5am and I am sleepless so I take out my scholarship applications
and hunt down my certificate copies
but I am missing a leaving school certificate… 408 more words
Tags » Poetry
Back in the fucking old days magic was how he did it/Clutched round your Ku Klux fanny chicken with a howl at the lion and Rafa Riffa/It is more for the fans this is a lager concern/We’ll come back and play a game of miserable chairs supplied with Jamaican Mule: Cancerous amounts of vanilla & lime with Sailor Jerry Spiced Rum, built with ginger beer and Angostura Bitters/And bird flu into it/In this day and age of earning money be a bitch stronger/It’s a big win for Chris Palace’s Charlton who are flying into dot com in the category of ‘Mens’ Water Pants’/It’s nice when I iz using Aeros to keep the rails clear/I pissed on some empty down there, is that all right?/To sit on a rum and coke telling a dirty joke/I’m not good at shitting in the morning/With a rotational bastards’ kit, this dumb Irish girl stayed after playing harmonica and shit/With 100% free dough guaranteed get caught when everyone farts and achieve winter teeth in 14 days if you play every game but one in the camp cup competition/Excess may contain splashing images/Why was this man Jerry’s butter?/And did any testes come with that delivery?/The rain made me so sad it made me think of Olly Murs/I need some chlorine for weed/Boom your ass!/I have angry shoes, speccy socks and sex with loose sandals/For some reason we sold Peroni as achievers’ lager/There’s such a power in this police whether you can see it or hear it or not 38 mad days week/She likes packs of rebels, I like rebels, we’re a match made in heaven/Licking at pictures of her in Nick Parrot’s house/You’ll never find a slug in my tea/The cat winning team cost less than £150,000/URGENT: NSPCC’s increase in young people feeling suicidal/They’re doing a grand job, keep walking/He’s a Hannibal in bed/But can’t handle five ales, ostrich/It was announced on the walrus at 12/Gonna go Co-op and get a gangster’s pasty/He’s looking bullocked/Fuckin’ fares have jumped upstairs/We want sexy minister elbowed out just to be with you now I’m a gentle dog’s bollock/She lives in Haribo with a lesbian who’s an insane anti-American North Korean propaganda/’Merlin’, she wrote, ‘make love on my latte’/Why don’t we go the place that sells llamas, the place down Brick Lane?/Old Street onions and a doughnut clock cock as I pick my whores for dinner/Have you gotta go to a sex machine?/I saw my dad get squashed in last year’s snow by elastic hangers/I’m on pleb nine, hoping to tickle them with my fanny bone/I feel like I’m the only cockatition, but I’m very pleasurative of this experience/Pooh portraits: match the dogs to their celeb owners/Preston high up the pitch for Arsenal/When I’m older I’ll eventually get season tits for Ipswich Town and get arrested for selling a pizza officer outside Sugar Hut/He’s always in the rotten place/The white ball does its job, but I hear cancer bullshit every day/Dump for club/He’s watching dejected, needing a Foxtrot, looking for a green Lincoln town car with a brown vinyl roof/We got no good Leyton on the side doors/FIFA A REPORT TODAY AND GET BACK TO WORK!
Wednesday Poetry Corner: Attention!!! The Internet Detonator sabotaged my call for Mother submissions!
Dear poets, I have caught the bug! Not the bug that drives us to write voraciously from pleasure ~ but the blasted internet detonator that has been going about lately! 205 more words