Like Butterflies Don't
So many little fluffy things
Explode when in the wash
My laundress is imploring me
Beseeching and imploring me
"Be sparing with that cosh!"
She's pleading, still imploring me
(While secretly adoring me)
She runs some risk of boring me
(She even tried ignoring me)
(And scoring me and goring me)
I'd rather she was pouring me
A gallon of gin slings
Contributors: | F, Apsley, Beefy, Roland, fester, Padfoot, Dassn't Say. |
Poem finished: | 13th November 2003 by Anon.. |