In Piles of Half-Burned Pizza
What evil you planning today?
What mischievous tricks are in store?
What vicious manoeuvres
Like frightening hoovers
Or calling the Teasmaid a wh*re?
I don't think I can take any more...
Of your prankish gestalt; it's a bore
I smell gasoline on this floor
Now go get a mop, Son,
Each time fluid drops on
My parquet I really get sore
I don't think I can take any more...
Of your moldy, year-old albacore
I don't think I can take any more...
Contributors: | Padfoot, Beefy, Roland, Ethetran, Dassn't Say, wah, Kansas Sam, F, (trad). |
Poem finished: | 27th September 2003. |