At Longest Last
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 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.
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 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 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 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'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 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 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 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 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
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 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 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 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 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
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 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.