The Dockland Proxy
The caramel wafer was tempting and thin:
thin and tempting our lady's last sin
When she stapled a goldfish to her old man
because he was a Cliff Richard fan
Sir Cliff, you see, was his best mate -
They often went out on a date
Or, sometimes, even on a prune,
By the light of the silv'ry moon
For dried-up fruit was just their taste
(No wrinkled plums would either waste)
And round their palates they would run
The currants from a stale old bun
The whole washed down with rancid beer
Is apt to taste a little queer
But that's the kind of dish they like
Before they go off on a hike
The goldfish, you'll be pleased to find,
Liked nibbling on bacon-rind,
And never minded hearing Cliff
Grunt as he rolled himself a spliff
The pleasant smell of Mary-Jane
Soon wafted off along the lane
and there upon the children sang
"Policeman, please arrest this man!"
And there was I, a rookie cop and only twenty-one,
had a hat upon my head, my pocket held a gun
And here they want me to take down the Grand Old Man of pop
For beckoning a harlot and calling her a sop
The clang of the cell door restored his good sense
Until he discovered his cell-mate was French
And covered in blisters and garlic and boils
(The kind of things from which Sir Cliff just recoils)
He wished his friend had ditched the fish
splish splash splish splash splish splash splish!!!!!
But back to his cell-mate, the garlic-bread king
Who several nice ballads was starting to sing:
The words of his songs spoke directly to Cliff
That is, I may say, till he started to whiff
at the wafting aroma that started swirl
and as soon as it started the dancing ended without a knowing of why
| Contributors: | Apsley, Modeus, fester, Beefy, TG, melody, Lucas, Craig Judkins, dan, Brittany. |
| Poem finished: | 5th March 2002. |