• At Longest Last
  • Far And Away
  • I Like Girls
  • I Like My Parts
  • I Met a Girl
  • I'd Like a Beard
  • Kevin Left His Home
  • Lions Ate My Grandfather
  • Little Jimmy Fingers
  • There Once Were Nuns
  • Uncle Terry
  • Poor Henry Gruff
  • At Longest Last

    At longest last the house is mine
    There's things to do if I've got time.
    All plans well laid for weeks on end
    Will soon bear fruit; I'm my best friend.

    A week soon passed, I'm still alone
    I've shaved off the beard on the garden gnome.
    I've licked all the biscuits in the biscuit barrel
    And bared all my bits to "Countdown's" Carol.

    As time went on the boredom grew
    So much free time, so much to do.
    I sniffed up some glue, it wasn't that nice
    And pulled it off my nose with a very tight vice.

    I looked at my socks and the holes therein
    And put them on my todger with a sheepish grin
    But so much time lay far ahead
    I'd have to stretch my mind and head.

    And so for a day I closed the curtains
    Walking round nude all damp and pert and
    Though the sun produced hot air
    It didn't warm the leather on my favourite chair.

    I videoed myself from very strange angles
    Summoned up the Devil with a blood pentangle
    Lost my sight and my palms went hairy
    And drank seven bottles of liquid fairy.

    I sucked out the air from a blow-up doll
    But she looked so drawn that I blew her back whole.
    I've worn all my clothes at once and danced
    To all my favourites records that include the word 'pants'

    I've worn off the feathers on the things that please me
    Played out the batteries on the toys that tease me
    Made a large stain that I can't remove
    And left a big chisel in the tongue and groove.

    It was there that my personal holiday stopped
    When the neighbours broke in and they called the cops
    Now it's here from my cell that I sit and write.
    And a cell solitary is a boon not a plight.

    It's funny how much the mind can wander
    When you're all alone with time to squander.
    So the moral of the story of this tale from hell
    Is never, never, never know yourself too well.



    Far and Away

    Far and away in a distant land
    Where the fiercest beasties roam
    There's a man and a mouse in a very big house
    With a door and a fire and a phone

    When the man's not there then the mouse will bare
    All it's body and walk 'round nude
    It'll shave it's fur and act demure
    Kinda sort'a like a Bill and Ted dude

    When the man's just there and the mouse is gone
    He sits with his phone by the fire
    And he makes odd calls as he juggles his balls
    With one hand 'cos the other's retired

    But if at any rare'ish time the man and the mouse co-habit
    Then the nude shaved mouse
    Runs about the house
    And the man will try to grab it

    So, far and away in a distant land
    A man and a mouse divest
    With no net curtains, morals uncertain
    And little of the neighbourhood left.


    I Like Girls

    I like girls, they have my heart
    I like them very much.
    However problems soon arise
    In cars without a clutch.

    You see I only have one leg
    And therefore I can't change
    From third to fourth or numbers there
    Within the gearbox range.

    But I'm not daft or lacking in
    A witty car-type patter
    Because I drive a car with knobs
    And handles where they matter.

    I jump the bridges, turn on coins
    Where few can barely stand.
    Like Wopat or that Schneider guy
    I'll drive on any land.

    And so my neighbours hear the squeaks
    Of chassis's in good voice.
    At least I've got the power to drive
    Or in my gal, rejoice.


    I Like My Parts

    I like my parts, I like my bod.
    Some dude tried hard, like Mr God
    To put them where they'd seem well used
    But now my parts just feel abused.

    To ease their plight I'd change their place
    I might add fingers to my face
    To reduce effort when I sneeze
    In moving hands to block the breeze.

    I'd top my fingers with my eyes
    To see the point - to visualise.
    My feet, I'd keep just as they are
    Though I'd like wheels just like a car.

    And now the question'age arises
    What to do with pant surprises?
    To move them to a different site
    Or keep them in my trousers tight.

    I'd like to think that they are safe
    Beneath the belt around my waist
    Though if my ego needs a bolster
    My bits I'd keep within a holster

    And draw them like a shooting guy
    Who aims with just his single eye
    I'd hit the mark without a doubt
    No need for funnels or a spout.

    But all this said I like my form
    It keeps my bony best bits warm.
    Without the flesh I'd look quite odd
    And not this gorgeous, hunky sod.


    I Met A Girl

    I met a girl and she liked men
    She'd had them once or twice
    She could do strange things with a grappling hook
    And very odd things with mice

    For four pounds ten she could teach five men
    In the art of origami
    She'd instruct them how to reduce a cow
    To a waistcoat when it's balmy.

    Though morals loose she'd extend a moose
    To provide a useful area
    With it's horns so wide it could scare a bride
    Or could even fox a terrier

    Her smile was bright and her chaps so tight
    With a joy so full and daring
    She could tackle a man with a black-belt dan
    And never reduce her bearing.

    But never we knew her name, no sir.
    Come and gone like the girls behind her.
    All she left on the bench was a letter in French
    And a terribly moist reminder.


    I'd Like A Beard

    I'd like a beard it would be nice
    I'd pin it to my nose
    And shave it with a flashing blade
    Until my ear hair grows

    If that did fail I'd take a drink
    Of potions that were sure
    To do the job correctly
    And to make my body pure.

    Though beards are nice I'd like it placed
    Upon my best'est navel
    And no I don't mean frigates
    Oh so grey and rather naval.

    Attached unto my belly bits
    For all the world to see
    A beardy-belly - gorgeous though
    I'll lift it when I pee.

    But now the secret's out of course
    My fetish has been blown
    But I don't care because I know
    My mental seed is sown.


    Kevin Left His Home

    Kevin left his home in Jersey
    Life had lost it's zest.
    From shore to shore, where e'er he went
    Was France or England best?

    And so one day, his mind made up,
    He leapt into the sea
    And tunneled, dug and bore a hole
    From York to Brittany.

    The work was hard and needed men
    Of strength and courage too,
    So Uncle Tom came round to help
    And brought his cousin Hugh.

    Through earth and rock and sandstone hard
    They dug for all their worth
    And as his mum called dinner time
    From France's soil they burst.

    It wasn't long 'til York's same sun
    Shone through the tunnel long
    And met the light in France's end
    With Kevin's Uncle Tom.

    So Kevin's not a young man squeezed
    Between dilemma's thighs.
    One day he may drink Bougelais,
    Another, eel and pies.

    Now Jersey is a place content
    No Kevin-types so mental,
    Or daring soles of same complaint
    Who like it continental.


    Lions Ate My Grandfather

    Lions ate my grand-father,
    He wasn't very well.
    They cooked him on an open fire
    Beside a small gazelle.

    The tangerines they ate him with
    Were pithy and quite tart,
    And rare events did come to pass
    Just like a lion's fart.

    Elephants and Wildebeests
    Enjoyed a cup of Java,
    While they sampled tasty sweetbreads
    From the father of my father.

    The meal all done, some mints were passed
    From guest to seated guest,
    And all the birds and beasts declared,
    'Your Grandpa tasted best!'


    Little Jimmy Fingers

    Little Jimmy Fingers lives
    Among the flowers and trees
    Away from towns and city life
    For he has a disease.

    All his limbs have fallen down
    His knees are nonexistent
    And where his elbows used to be
    Is now a small assistant.

    His torso flops from side to side
    With each prevailing wind.
    His thighs have long departed
    And both ankles have been binned.

    His wrists are gone and put away,
    His chops have long since fallen.
    The warehouse where his best bits lay
    Was robbed - his nostrils stolen.

    All his person is misplaced.
    Some knuckles are mislaid.
    His moustache, lips and nasal hair
    Were stolen in a raid.

    But Jimmy Fingers still lives on,
    Though home-life may be smaller.
    A shoe-box is his new abode;
    A smile for every caller.

    Both his eyelids function well
    And all his teeth are gleaming.
    His nipples act as coffee cups
    For sauna couples steaming.

    With all the tips and fleshy parts
    That stay about his person,
    He's sworn to help the lower types;
    Just like a vet or surgeon.

    His palms are used as dinner plates,
    His belly: gentle cushions.
    And either of his testicles
    Are eaten by the Russians.

    Armpits serve as hamster holes,
    In knee-caps dwells a gerbil.
    His toe-nails for the parakeet,
    His rib cage growing chervil.

    But finally his time did come,
    His honour not in doubt;
    His mother praised his life-long cause
    To put himself about.


    There Once Were Nuns

    There once were nuns in black and white
    Who saw some monks and thought they'd fight
    They set it up between their heads
    And drew up contracts for the reds.

    Five-to-one was on the monks
    But word said nuns were confidant
    They'd pumped the iron, said their vows
    While monks beefed up their sacred cows.

    Sister Anne had made her mark
    And bench-pressed heifers after dark
    While Sister Wendy tried her best
    But couldn't jog without her vest.

    So Brother Andrew shaved his head
    The others did their legs instead
    They thought a habit pained enough
    Without some frequent hair wax stuff

    And so the day arrived without
    A rigging or a whiff of snout
    The monks stood firm beneath the dawn
    The nuns just kept their habits warm

    The fights ensued and then a rage
    But then the rozzers locked the cage
    On Mother's who were once superior
    Banged up in a steel interior.

    Now all the beige bagged brothers scowl
    At missing chances to de-cowl
    While nuns of every order rue
    The day they bashed the bishop too.

    So if you see a passing group
    Of nuns and monks in silent troop
    Don't think it's all in reverence
    It's just a holy self-defence.

    Way Out West

    Way out west in 1850
    Lived a team whose clothes were nifty
    One named Strauss, the other Fink
    A pair designed for life... you'd think.

    But trouble brewed within their camp
    A mood soon gave their style some cramp
    It seemed that these two vogue-savants
    Had bitched and made some nasty taunts.

    While Strauss'y boy had set his heart
    On denim for to make his art
    Old Finky's mind was made - he'd die on
    Nothing short of gorgeous nylon

    So minds made up the duo split
    They did their things - and fans were hit
    For ego's that had held together
    Soon tore apart all hell for leather

    While Strauss created jeans and said,
    'They're cool in every weave and thread.'
    The Fink just simply stood his ground
    And showed the things he knew profound.

    The models posed, the pants were bared
    And paparazzi flashlights glared
    A sight was there before its age,
    And for a few t'was all the rage

    Transfixed by nylon tops and trousers
    There was no need for rabble-rousers
    The taper lit; the crowd went wild
    But in the background Strauss'y smiled

    For way before his time was Fink
    His styles too bold, his pinks too pink,
    He died a man before his time
    When flares were just for maritime.

    But give a century-and-a-score
    Travolta, J. would hit the floor
    While Strauss had pulled the denim lever
    Fink had caused a late night-fever


    When I Was Nine

    When I was nine a cat met me
    And when he left he couldn't see
    I'd plucked his orbs from out his head
    And glued a camera to his head.

    My family, though they were not pleased,
    Refrained from words to taunt or tease
    And issued me with other pets
    To which I soon put to the test.

    I strapped an oven to a lamb
    And used the hobs for kebab scams.
    With profits made I eased into
    A factory just for horsey glue.

    When age of twelve so soon I reached
    I happened on a whale quite beached,
    Though not quite dead I made it so
    Then made it live with dynamo's.

    My latest project soon will hatch
    With fishes kept from those I catch
    I'll fill them up with helium
    For water-less aquariums.


    When Nancy Was Five

    When Nancy was five she lived in a hive
    And dallied with big bees and hornets
    She tempted their minds and their pointy behinds
    With a Strawberry Mivvy and cornets.

    As the older she grew far more honey she drew
    From the flowers and plants in the garden
    Till at ten-years-and-five she exploded the hive
    And the queen bee said "Now't" to a pardon.

    So Nancy was thrown from her honeycomb home
    With only a black-and-gold jersey
    But with her came Sam - busy bee with a plan
    With some hybrid ideas that were pervy.

    Now Sam and his Nancy live quiet but fancy
    With kiddies called Lucy and Hector
    Both human and hairy with wings like a fairy
    And dodgy addictions to nectar.


    When I Was Seven

    When I was seven my Mum went to heaven
    She fell upon several sharp knives
    They didn't quite stab her, they sort of kebabbed her.
    I served her with chillis and chives.

    My sister went later, a crocodile ate her
    It bit her in two like a Twiglet
    She said very little when bit in the middle
    And left little more than a giblet.

    My brother, with guile, stayed alive for a while
    Until after some hours chopping trees
    His hands feeling lax couldn't keep up the axe
    And his head bounced around by his knees

    My Father, god love him, was fond of his oven
    And baked in his boulangerie.
    Til his apron caught fire causing him to expire
    Now his ashes time eggs to a "T".

    Myself, I am well, though my bowels give me hell
    I have chosen to die of exposure
    With no ifs or buts I'll be covered in nuts
    And then thrown in a monkey enclosure.


    Keith McGreeth

    Keith McGreeth had great big teeth
    He'd use them all the time
    For chewing food and normal things
    But also things unkind.

    He'd bite off noses just to spite
    The people that he knew
    And nibble at their legs and arms
    And all their sternums too.

    No man would dare to cross his path
    For fear of being bitten
    His infamy grew far and wide
    From France westwards to Britain.

    Some people came, as people do
    Observing him first hand
    But Keith bit them, their kiddies too
    And drove them from the land.

    Now this went on for many years
    Til folk were quite fed up
    And hired a mercenary chap
    To end this irksome pup.

    The fellow came with gun in hand
    And aimed at Keith in slumber
    But Keith awoke and bit the bloke
    Who now is death encumbered.

    So realising when to quit
    The townsfolk moved away
    And left dear Keith with all his teeth
    To die another day.

    And still he lives alone today
    Not causing any grief
    Alone at last and quite content:
    Once bitten, shy McGreeth.


    I Have Many Monkeys

    I have many monkeys
    I have seventeen or more
    They live within my overcoat
    And spill out on the floor

    Their hands reach out and take the fruit
    While I am sat there eating
    I put their names on placement cards
    To not confuse the seating

    Though some are pests the rest ingest
    The things I dare not chew on
    They knock it back and chew and chat
    While I enjoy a crouton.


    I Knew a Lad

    I knew a lad, his legs were small
    They kept him up in case he'd fall
    His nose would bleed from dread of heights
    His fear was such he laddered tights.

    Once walking 'cross a playing field
    His eyebrows twitched, his senses reeled
    He trod upon a lolly stick
    The rarer air soon made him sick

    A cure was sought from far and wide
    And doctors came through sake of pride
    They offered pills and money deals
    For sports endorsements on his heels

    But then the day came that would prove
    The doctors point where potions soothe
    Or rot his parts and organs spoil
    And leave him 'neath some six-foot soil

    But faith and potions, medicine
    Had let him live with all his sin
    Until his calves grew inches greater
    Without some odd accelerator.


    When I'm Good

    'When I'm good I'm very, very good
    But when I'm bad I'm better':
    It was my family's motto -
    We obeyed it to the letter.

    When we were good we understood
    The things a person should do
    But being bad was best of all
    Especially with voodoo.

    Being good was petting cats
    And walking miles with Rover
    Being bad was pitting cats
    Against a wild Land Rover.

    Good was right, but bad had might
    And gave you such a pleasure
    Good was reading moral tales -

    Working on a farm was good
    Cheese making was a slog
    But we put milk into our pants
    And went out for a jog.

    Being good can get you friends
    Who never tie you down
    But when you're bad those are the types
    One really needs around.

    Being good is understood
    To be a righteous way
    But we have found a dog is bound
    To always have it's day.


    Jeremiah Fudge

    Jeremiah Fudge was a man with a grudge
    For the fellow who once employed him
    He'd cooked up a plan for this sinister man
    Who had in the past annoyed him.

    From dusk til dawn he stalked his prey
    And timed his every movement
    He'd studied in spying, silent dying
    And a course in self-improvement.

    His skills thus honed he put to task
    And set a trap for Barry
    For this was the name of the chap at blame
    For the grudge that Fudge had carried.

    The day arrived and Baz left home
    His car - a Metro - started
    As Fudge looked on his last grin shone
    Then his body and soul departed.

    With innocence Baz drove away
    But Jerry may think later
    Why he ended his life with the sight of his wife
    With some wires and a detonator.

    So Jeremiah Fudge had a very big grudge
    Obsession had turned to stalking
    His error in life was ignoring his wife
    And her advice? Just talking.


    Cobblers Are Strange

    Cobblers are strange they make shoes and all that
    Not hats or pyjamas or gloves for a cat.
    Not trousers or cardies or scarves for your neck
    But shoes to put feet in so socks won't be wet.

    I like many shoe-guys though one as a person
    Did never appeal - call it cobbler aversion.
    His ways and his methods would make a man cringe:
    He would rip out the uppers without a syringe.

    To measure a shoe size with tapes or a ruler
    Is just not the style for this wild leather-tooler.
    He says that his DT's make measurements jerky
    So he puts your warm foot in a butter-ball turkey.

    His reason for this is as follows, please listen:
    'The flesh gives good mould and in butter kid glistens.'
    Oh yes, little goats go to make up his shoes
    From Billies and Nannies with nothing to lose.

    A little kid slave trade is just for this cobbler
    With aid from big Bernard - that turkey greed-gobbler.
    No morals or conscience are there for to grieve him
    Just nurses and men with a coat with long sleeves in.

    But yes, he's a goner - no more will he trouble
    The billies whose leather is too young for stubble.
    But now I'm quite missing his cobbled constructions -
    I've leather and turkeys but not the instructions.


    Roderick

    In a place not that nearby
    So many years ago
    There lived a man called Roderick
    Whose hair had far to go

    It seems our boy had dandruff
    Of a vicious kind of sort
    Which left a silvery trail behind
    When round about he walked

    The children of his village poured
    Their scorn upon the chap
    And made his life a misery;
    His baguettes turned to baps

    But though life held for Roderick
    A daily bout of strife
    He bore it well with much aplomb
    And even sought a wife

    He put out ads for company
    And stated all his favours
    But in the post his few returns
    Came back from drooling ravers

    At Christmas time his ebb had come
    The weather helped him little
    With scattered showers and frequent fog
    The snow was non-committal

    The children in the village wept
    And clutched their sleds with fear
    They dreaded one more winter that
    Would fail to bring good cheer

    But as from nowhere came a cry
    Close by young Roddy's beard
    He had the answer to the quandary
    All the kids had feared

    "You want some snow?" asked Roderick
    Atop the highest hill
    "Oh yes," they cried, "We'd love a fall
    Of winter-type land fill."

    And so without a drummer's roll
    Young Roderick prepared
    Then scraped and scoured his fruitful scalp
    Till he was nearly bared

    His dandruff fell like winters silk
    And all the hills were coated
    The children cheered and donned their skis
    And soon forgot they'd doubted

    Then lasses came from far and wide
    To try this new found leisure
    And soon discovered Roderick -
    And granted him their pleasure

    Now Roddy's head is in demand
    From France and places colder
    He's even got some sponsorship
    Though not from Head and Shoulders.


    Wee Dram Beasties

    Wee dram beasties like to shout
    With whiskey shots within they spout
    I've seen some men who were quite normal
    Turn their minds to thoughts of Cornwall

    Yes, that's how those Northern types
    Emigrated in the night
    They'd had enough of snow and sleet
    And simply wanted warmer sheep

    To lands of tors and moorish ground
    Their ships came in, what's more they found
    That kilts were not the average thing
    It's pasties that are truly king

    And so the garb of Scottish home
    Was passed on to the gastronome
    The pleats that made a good kilt last
    Now keep a Cornish pasty fast


    When I Was Born

    When I was born I was quite drunk
    It might have been November
    They say the midwife slapped my arse
    I'm damned if I remember

    On reaching two they held a do
    To hail month twenty-four
    My hamster failed to celebrate
    I nailed it to the floor

    At three I blew balloons up
    And then tied them to a tree
    My sister then deflated them
    And blew them up in me

    Four was good and wholesome
    And I smiled a cheeky grin
    And after that I shaved the cat
    And made the dog drink gin

    My fifth year came too quickly
    So by way of recompense
    I sacrificed a rooster
    Then tied Grandma to the fence

    At six I met a lynch mob
    With some feathers, rope and glue
    I doused them in petroleum
    The rope burned quite well too

    Then seven came and my acclaim
    Came back to haunt me hard
    That's why this final message
    Comes from psychic Tarot cards.


    Bob and Dot Price

    Bob and Dot Price led a sheltered life
    And had never had time for reading
    So with marriage vows said they retired to bed
    And contemplated ways of breeding.

    Now Bob had heard of the bees and birds
    But had never quite grasped the subject
    So he hung from the light with a rope tied tight
    In a homemade yellow-black outfit.

    He buzzed at Dot who was feeling hot
    In her polyester one-piece bathers
    Which had patterns of a tree, Bob said "That'll do for me"
    Now come and let me do you some favours.

    So with all his might he swung from the light
    Till the fittings gave way above him
    And he plunged to the bed, catching Dottie on the head
    She was dazed but she couldn't help love him.

    All night they tried with the windows wide
    Then Dot spoke up a question
    Should we shake hands hard while I smear some lard
    On the parts where I've got my vest on.

    So they gave it a try as they kept an eye
    On the door in case of peepers
    Then Dot gave a shriek at a lard-type streak
    On her vest which she sent to the cleaners.

    As she stood there in her underwear
    Bob felt he had the strangest feeling
    But he put it down to wind and some guilt for having sinned
    Cos he swore in the fall from the ceiling

    As they both stood there in the cool night air
    Their eyes met and held their gaze
    Until Dot coughed and a button shot off
    From a skirt she'd only had three days.

    It dropped to the floor and then once more
    Bob felt he had an odd sensation
    Dot's eyes lit up as he picked her up
    And we'll leave the rest to one's imagination.

    So it seems with a will there's a way as well
    But neither these two believe it
    Though Bob and Dot Price found the whole thing nice
    They couldn't, as a rule, conceive it.


    Abigail Rinnd

    Abigail Rinnd had a man with wind
    And they shared their house politely
    But the fact they both ate matching meals
    Can't explain why he's farting nightly.

    Though they both had rice and the curry was spiced
    There's no explanation reasoned
    She says he lets off at the merest cough
    If the vindaloo's unseasoned.

    He quotes half-truths as his bowels are soothed
    By a lager as the facts are tarnished
    Til he's slept it off with a ripe arse-cough
    That could peel off a Dulux varnish.

    All across the land these burps (unplanned)
    Seem taught not by Mum but father
    It's an evil plot to disguise what's not
    And to make all the nice boys badder.

    Just check out the facts of the girls in slacks
    As they take the advice from their mother
    When they go to the loo not in one's but two's
    And they use their best friends as cover.

    The truth be told they're worse than men
    Cos they all have the means to show it
    But the problem is they've not the pride
    Just to vent their bowels and blow it.


    Daniel Dax

    Daniel Dax bought some smart felt slacks
    And he wore them night and day.
    He'd brush one leg from hip to toe
    While the other hung come what may.

    One night on a stroll he observed a mole
    That was watching him discretely
    "You admire my slacks?" asked Daniel Dax,
    But the mole just stabbed him neatly.

    On the ground Dan writhed as moles arrived
    With some lamps and a thread for stitching
    And as one they left poor Dan bereft
    Of slacks as he lay there twitching.

    But why you ask was this mean-mole task?
    Just examine the pants false label
    Though the slacks said 'Felt' every burrower smelt
    Their abducted sister Mabel.

    So buy with care all the clothes you wear
    Cos moles hang around in packs
    With their cunning and guile and an eye for style
    You'll be stitched like Daniel Dax.


    In Early Days of Medicine

    In early days of medicine
    I knew a man whose teeth
    Were made by Thomas Edison
    And caused the chap some grief.

    For they were made of iron
    So to give a super voltage
    But then a zap did give this chap
    A hair-type kind of moultage.

    His hair did leave his smoothly scalp
    And left this bald guy mental
    He sued Doc Tom for all his gold
    For he was instrumental.

    The moral of this story
    If you really need a meaning
    Is choose between no hair or teeth
    And pick the less demeaning.


    Naughty Little Nellie

    Naughty little Nellie was a figure of complaint
    Cos on every city corner she was selling body paint
    And down the street was Malcom selling chocolate for a bod
    And beside him was a missionary pawning bits for God

    Well as fate would have it two of them bought up a kind of shop
    Which was famed for selling rubber toys and dripping wax quite hot
    Onto bodies that were tethered but quite willing it would seem
    Who preferred a something harder unlike Horlicks or ice cream

    All the while the missionary kept his eye upon these two
    Till his vision drooped and godly ardour rose a notch or few
    He'd been hanging round the magazines and blow up plastic friends
    And been seduced by saucy Satan and his minion trends

    So walk past any corner of a city you may know
    There's a Nellie and a Malcolm with a fellow close in tow
    He's been known to hold the camera or to maybe take some notes
    But often simply hangs around to over-comfort goats.


    Simon Race

    Simon Race had a four foot face
    And a jaw line like Alaska
    So a traveling man with a western plan
    Could jot down his route much faster.

    Near his eye lay a stye with a right hand side
    That was often mistook for Norway
    With its troughs and dips and the crusty bits
    It was less like a fissure than a fjord way.

    On his cheek was a peak that was quite oblique
    Which could double as a Mont Blanc mountain
    With it's pustule hue it could tempt a few
    But if squeezed was a veritable fountain.

    Both his ears for skiers raised many high cheers
    With their slopes and awkward dangers
    And the sleet off piste was a constant grief
    To the many downhill-type rangers.

    And he seemed so smug with his fun filled mug
    Til an accident did befall him
    With his face condemned he was boxed and penned
    Plus a double-wrap of tarpaulin.

    So ended the pace of this Race type face
    Though his fun has not yet ended
    Cos he won first prize for his sunken eyes
    And his colour was quite commended.


    Nigel Hamstead

    Nigel Hamstead's head was huge
    It's size beguiled yet also soothed.
    The temples on his massive skull
    Would throb, pulsate and heave and bulge.

    On full moons tides would fight to be
    The closer to La Lune or he.
    It's gravity was such it drew
    All comers far and old and new.

    He'd sell pink tickets at his door
    To folks whose eyes demanded more
    And then he'd take his place and sit
    While crowds in awe inspected it.

    A gentle soul called Mary-Lou
    Stayed after hours to parlaiz too
    She caught young Nigel's portly eye
    And in a trice she hooked the guy.

    Proposal said, and marriage made
    These star-crossed lovers eked a trade
    From county fairs to circus tents
    And any town that had two-cents.

    Til nature did as nature does
    And birds and bees produced a buzz
    For Mary-Lou was blessed with twins
    And family came to see their kin.

    A shock for Nigel, though not Mary
    For her family all were hairy
    But soon he learned to love them too
    His in-laws: folks of Mary-Lou.

    Now altogether far and wide
    Tour Nigel and his hirsute pride
    The twins it seems were doubly blessed
    Two girls: big heads and hairy chests.


    Daphne Peters

    Daphne Peters had an arm
    That stretched from Leeds to Luton
    She'd had it there since she was born
    It chaffed when she'd a suit on.

    Although it dragged behind a way
    And cars would run it over
    It was her choice to keep it moist
    By bathing it near Dover.

    She'd coil it up or let it flop
    Depending on her feelings
    And if she fancied freshest fish
    She'd use hook, hand and reeling.

    But finally she met a man
    To put up with her size
    His name was Pete his gennies stretched
    From Plymouth to St Ives.


    Rim-Jim Jameson

    Rim-Jim Jameson had a little dog
    He kept it on a magic lead and showed it to his God
    His God said, "Rimmy-Jimmy does your dog do any tricks?"
    And Jimmy said, "My Lord it dances and can sing a bit."

    The dog then stepped before the Lord and cleared it's tiny throat
    It shuffled back and forth a bit and scratched it's hairy coat
    Then sitting down with poise and grace It opened up it's jaws
    And sang a little ditty that was met with light applause.

    The Lord said, "Jim, I like you and I usually like dogs"
    But this one's a blasphemer and I hear he chews your clogs
    His song was very tuneful and the rhythm wasn't bad
    But he said I was a nonsense - my existence cruel and bad."

    Rimmy-Jim stood still a while and pondered what was said,
    The dog looked on and scratched again then spoke with tilted head
    "Rim-Jim," he said, "I'll sing to him, but nothing else I'll do"
    "For he is bad and causes war and death and famine too."

    Rimmy-Jim blushed scarlet-red and motioned to the Lord,
    "I'm not with him," he murmured as he pointed at the dawg
    The Lord said, "Dog blasphemer, I have had enough of you!"
    And smote him down with thunderbolts, some hail and drizzle too.

    His fur quite singed and dying now, the dog coughed up his last,
    "I'll get you, God, in my next life" and with that doggy passed.
    Rim-Jim looked down at doggy's corpse and wondered what to say
    Then God said, "Jim go get a cat and try another day."


    Strawberry Dan

    Strawberry Dan was an Indian man
    With feathers and plumes a'plenty
    He'd stiffen ten tents to their purest sense
    Until his quiver emptied.

    He could skin a moose till it's parts were loose
    And fashion it's horns for ladies
    Whilst leaving meat for a fondue treat
    And bits for toothless babies.

    With his teepee skills he'd cause some ills
    And could shelter odd kids from rainfall
    By his man-like will he could make ten kills
    'Cos he'd spear four geese or a skein-full.

    On the plains he grew where the nearby Sioux
    Would pillage and do some sacking
    But Dan stood tall in his handmade shawl
    And he thrashed them and sent them packing.

    So all hail Dan he's a Strawberry man
    As he rides into the sunset
    He'll be back again be it wind or rain
    For his heroes work's not done yet.


    When I Was Ten

    When I was ten I found nine men
    Were hiding in my cellar.
    When asked what they were doing there
    They said, "Buzz off, young fella!"

    A week went by and there again
    I found them 'neath my floor
    They had some bats and pointy hats
    And innards on the door.

    Again I asked and passed a flask
    Containing drunken fluids
    Among these men of odd brethren
    Who said that they were druids.

    They soon went on to tell me of
    The things that they all did
    Like sketching out a pentagram
    From blood drawn from a kid.

    I screamed and ran as children do,
    But soon they caught me up
    And then explained the blood they drained
    Was from a goat tied up.

    I sighed aloud and stepped aside
    To let them do their bidding
    They sacrificed a cockerel
    Then I knew that they weren't kidding.

    But all that said they're lovely chaps
    Though blood drips from the rafters
    I bring them tea and to my glee
    They always clean up after.


    William Dace

    William Dace had a great big face
    And a grin far wider than a wide fireplace
    But his body was small so his chin came down
    And would drag along the cobbles as he hobbled into town

    If you happened up behind him
    You would see his back and legs
    But on turning he would scare you
    And your pants would be in shreds

    But no nasty man is Willy
    All the kids just think he's cool
    When he opens up his dripping mouth
    They use it as a pool


    Donna Kebab

    I once knew a girl called Donna Kebab
    Her feet were sweet but her breath was bad
    She could melt plate glass at fourteen feet
    And drink pure turps - no water - neat

    At night she'd take to the town and grab
    Any man whose senses were quite bad
    Then take him home for a night debauched
    And ditch him in the morning with his reputation torched

    She had morals if she wanted them
    But rarely did she use 'em
    She'd had one night stands with several priests
    Which often would confuse 'em

    Never passing up an offer
    Of some time away from town
    She could drive a man to drink
    And then she'd drive him further down

    Any scruples of her lifestyle
    Had been long since buried deep
    While her weekends are for swinging
    She's a copper all the week.


    For a Month and a Day

    For a month and a day they held old Ray
    Tied up in a cold dark cellar
    They stabbed him twice and placed live mice
    On his thighs and his cold old fella

    Chained up all day be it come what may
    With only some gruel as succour
    He stood in his mire as they raised his ire
    To levels he'd not yet suffered

    On Wednesdays he'd stand where he peed
    Which ran his feet to ruin
    But come high noon they'd take a spoon
    And pour it back into him.

    For a month and a day they held old Ray
    Though he never broke down to shriek
    For he'd paid full price and the girls were nice
    And they said they'd let him back next week.


    Reet Petite Pete

    Reet Petite Pete was light on his feet
    And he danced seven dignitaries into the street
    Where he fed them on honey and kept them all sweet
    And plied them his wares which were wrapped and discrete

    He charmed several ladies to give him much money
    They laughed as they gave - he was dandy and funny
    He slipped them a mickey which left their minds runny
    And boiled up their pets - several cats and a bunny

    He traveled the country and parts there-about's
    And he danced round the truth and he planted some doubts
    Leaving people bemused amid whispers and shouts
    With his devious ways and his poses and pouts

    Then a lawman called Daryl appeared on the scene
    He was rootin' and tootin' and dressed like a queen
    But his instincts were honed and his senses were keen
    And he vowed to stop Pete and his deeds so obscene

    So he set up a trap and he lay down to wait
    He was guised as a lady arranging a date
    Until right on the mark petite Pete bit the bait
    And was caught by the peelers and sealed was his fate

    So Daryl was knighted, his name was in lights
    The public adored him - the tranny in tights
    While safe in a cell petite Pete set his sights
    On the young warden's daughter who eased his night plights.


    I Grabbed Seven Monkeys

    I grabbed seven monkeys
    And then they all grabbed me
    They took me to a shady bower
    And laid me out for tea

    They coated me with liquorice
    And sliced banana fruits
    Then placed a tiny artichoke
    Upon my khaki boots

    I clenched my teeth and raged a while
    To check their hold was firm
    But couldn't shake their furry grip
    No matter how I'd squirm

    They stood around my tethered form
    With malice in their eyes
    Then one approached with caution
    And a look of odd surprise

    He poked me with a stick or two
    Then went back to his friends
    They gathered round to chat awhile
    And then they made amends

    With monkey speed they set me free
    And ran into the trees
    I soon got up and sprinted off
    My shorts around my knees.

    But that was then and this is now
    But I shall ne'er forget
    The day when seven monkeys
    Thought they'd have me as their pet.


    Sultan Bob

    Sultan Bob takes Prozac
    Cos the stress does do his head in
    He gives hay to his llamas
    And they use it for their bedding.

    So Bob now lives quite happily
    Just him and his Sultana
    She says she's pleased that Sultan Bob's
    A calmer llama farmer.


    Terrible Dan

    Terrible Dan was a cut-throat man
    With a knife far bigger than a big man's hand
    He had guns in his pockets and some bullets in his vest
    And a photo of his mother lying pressed against his chest

    He had teeth the size of lions
    And a sparkle in his eye
    When a stranger came to fight him
    They would fight him once and die.

    He could spot a spitting cobra
    As it rustled on a leaf
    And could skin and stitch and wear it
    As the venom left it's teeth.

    Dan was sharp and dark and dapper
    And his history was such
    Only men would tell his story
    Lest a lady know too much

    Now he's lying since his dying
    In a casket cast in lead
    And no one has been too near it
    Just in case old Dan ain't dead...


    When I Put Honey On My Arm

    When I put honey on my arm
    A bee flew by and stung me.
    If I put marmite on my legs
    Will cows come up and dung me?

    If I lay out beneath the sun
    I'll brown without a doubt
    So why beneath the moonlit sky
    Won't night-time suck it out?

    What if I had wings and flew?
    To go in flight or find a loo?
    What's best? To spend or land instead?
    Too late, I'll go on someone's head.

    What if cows produced neat booze
    Would they be hijacked from their hooves
    And kept by students overnight
    To suck their udder beer delight?

    What if elbows bent both ways
    Would people scratch their bits more ways?
    Or would they then proceed to itch
    The parts they didn't know exist?

    Just nine months before my birth
    I had neither height nor girth.
    When I'm moments from my death
    Will people see me more or less?

    If I'm a while within my bath
    My skin will crink and prune.
    When I drink water, is that what
    My insides do too soon?

    If lemons and vinegar had a fight
    And the loser sucked the winner
    Who would have the worst'est suck
    The lemon or vin-E-gar?

    If a Fungi had a home
    And dry-rot was amassing
    Would it leave things as they are
    Or call a mould-assassin?

    When fella's grow their facial hair
    It's said they look quite sultry
    So as a lass who has a tash
    Why do the guys insult me?

    A joke of evolution
    Is a something we all need.
    If birds had lips instead of beaks
    Would starlings all suck-seed?

    In the Bible scriptures say
    Our image is as God's
    But what if he was drunk that night
    And we should all be dogs?

    Guitar and catarrh
    Oh, the difference is little
    But one has six strings
    And the other is spittle.

    Dogs are vivacious, all leaping about
    And barking and whining and such
    They have hair, we have hair: where is the shame
    In sniffing out somebody's crutch?


    Cecil Semen

    Cecil Semen lived in tubes
    Pink inside with outside pubes
    In his diary he would write
    "Now it's dark and now it's light."

    Of the world his view was fleeting
    All he did was headbutt sheeting
    In his years he saw few women
    It seemed he'd spend his life in linen.

    But his moment was to come
    As Mr Right met Miss Ovum
    All the foreplay was disarming
    And his target seemed so charming

    She was pink and so was he
    He would wriggle, she was free.
    But as they met he lost his tail
    And vanished far behind the veil.

    Soon the two became a one
    Then came the couple, plus the son.
    A full blown family then ensued
    And urban life was thus imbued.

    The moral of this story lies
    Not in the organs near the thighs
    But in a chemist's contraceptives -
    Rhythm methods are deceptive.


    Dark in a Field

    Dark in a field where the air was cold
    Lived a man with a plan and a head quite bald
    He was schooled in the ways of Eastern chaps
    But his thighs were thin in his hand sewn slacks.

    He was Black Belt Bob and his hands were gold
    They could chop down a Honda, knock a Volvo cold
    There was power in his fists that was quite untapped
    (He was christened Sweet Sam but he felt it lacked.)

    Then a fellow drove in to the Bob-type town
    He was dark, he was mean and he drank alone
    On his feet were things that the Chinese wear
    And it seemed at a glance he had self-cut hair

    He stood at the bar and as Bob walked in
    He sank down a pint with an awful grin
    Bob gave no sign - not a wink nor shrug
    Til their eyes did meet 'cross the bar-boozed fug.

    Said the man to Bob,"I'm a stranger here."
    Said Bob to the man,"I'm in need of beer."
    Said the man,"I'm Dan, I'm a gents outfitter."
    Said Bob,"I'm in trucks - I'm an ice-road gritter."

    So the two talked on with a mutual glee
    And these two young men soon will be three
    Cos they met one girl who helps such lads
    Nine months from now they'll be two gay dads.


    Call the Cops

    Call the cops and call the peelers!
    I've bought drugs from seven dealers.
    Nicked some keys and stole an Astra
    Drove it fast and then much faster.

    Burned up Beamers with Jack Klugman
    Crashed a Cooper and a Clubman.
    Had a swim and peed in water
    Took a daughter to the slaughter.

    Taught her how to hollow pumpkins
    Demonstrated ways of scrumping
    Caught a Boeing out to Ghana
    Came third in a horse gymkhana.

    Got bit bad and caught malaria
    Palms got hairy, dark and hairier.
    I got sick and then got sicker
    Its a hard life as a vicar.


    Over the Urals

    Over the Urals the turbulence struck
    The man in the toilet lost more than his luck
    The fuselage danced in the rarefied air
    And Evian'd jeans were not quite my first care.

    The lights in the cabin flashed amber and white
    My pupils dilated; my buttocks went tight.
    I gazed out the window - a moment of clarity
    The birds flew at ease - what had caused such disparity?

    The pilot's soft baritone punctured the clamour
    Dispelling our fears and restoring our manner
    The Yanks settled calmly and then the Cannucks
    Agnostics were rational and priests frocked back up.

    The message came clear, "An alarm has been tripped."
    "So who's the Wright-blighter?" and Englishman quipped.
    "Smoke was detected in toilet F7"
    "Was it you or your neighbour?" - I eyed my air-brethren.

    As one we arose and with ire headed aft
    To find the wrongdoer - the one who had gaffed.
    I rapped at the door as behind me bile surged
    And slowly but surely a figure emerged.

    His hair black and lank hung down over his eyes
    But no naive youth was to meet with our sighs.
    A businessman stepped from the cubicle bowing;
    But none were assuaged by this one man's kowtowing.

    For around him a cloud hung of cigarette smoke
    And instant death sentence from our lynching folk!
    Said vengeance administered, peace was restored
    Though the manifest registered one less on board.

    So the moral to travellers is set to a vigil
    For flying is safe, though its quality fragile
    As calm as it is, it takes just one to spoil it,
    So never (not once) drag a fag in the toilet.

    Barry Burton

    Barry Burton was a man
    Like many of his ilk
    He dressed in slacks, liked Basement Jaxx,
    His shirts? All handmade silk.

    His wardrobe was a costly one
    But brought him all his pleasure
    His shoes were quite the finest made
    The platforms were his treasure.

    And all the year sweet Barry goes
    About his life with glee
    But once a month he's troubled by
    Severe lycanthropy.

    For Barry is a werewolf sort
    And lunar cycles spite him
    When dressed up fine his genes decline
    And nothing will respite 'em.

    His body flexes, splits and grows
    Destroying lovely clothing
    And Barry's then a hairy hound
    All bent on bloody roving.

    So he has learnt come full'ish moon
    To dress down for the killing
    With just a shell-suit ripped to shreds
    It saves on wardrobe billing.


    Uncle Terry

    Uncle Terry was so very
    Hairy on his body
    Some people said his mother
    Was a feminine Bill Oddie

    From 'neath his socks to his butt-ocks
    It was just like a thicket
    And thence above from handles loved
    It simply wasn't cricket.

    Come summertime he'd hide away
    For fear of scaring kids
    For years ago a child saw him
    Now he's an invalid.

    His mother said "It's not your fault"
    The child was squashed by traffic
    But Terry turned his head away
    And simply wouldn't have it.

    So late one evening, after dark
    His mother found the lad
    Who though wheelbound and quite profound
    Had made poor Terry sad.

    On hearing of dear Terry's plight
    The youngster set forth quick
    And spun his wheels until he reached
    Where Terry dwelt (quite sick)

    He told him how his life was fine
    No guilt should be on Terry
    Though legs unsound he got around
    "Life's rosey like a berry!"

    Well Terry perked up on the spot
    And vowed to live his life
    He hit the town with hair hung down
    And was the talk of Fyfe

    So now he struts his hirsute bod
    And cuts a dashing figure
    The ladies call for his amour
    And hairy Terry vigour.


    Poor Henry Gruff

    In the eyes of the Lord poor Henry Gruff
    Was neither hearty, hard nor tough.
    He'd wince at wind that blew his hair
    And rarely stepped down from his chair

    He'd sink with fear upon the floor
    And slink away to sulk some more
    To bide his time, until he felt
    That all was safe where e'er he dwelt.

    One day a fellow called to meet him
    Kind and warm with need to greet him
    He shook his hand and gave a cough
    And - Lord! - poor Henry's hand fell off

    So all along poor Gruff was wise
    To caution take and shield his eyes
    From every kind of fearful harm -
    Now proof is in his stunted arm.