Bros Before Hose—A Late Knight in Chyna

Spelunking!

Don’t you ever,
Never, ever,
Show your arse,
On the town hall,
Steps.

Do you suppose,
That the DEI hire,
Knows that they,
Are a DEI hire?
Does the fact,
They weren’t the best,
Person for the job,
But only a box,
The employer could tick,
Make them feel,
Accomplished?

Crying.
Lying.
Dying.
Spying.
Frying.
Victoria sponge.

Little Tommy Two-Shits;
He’s better than you.
If you’ve been for one shit,
He’s been for two.
Little Tommy Two-Shits;
He’s harder than rock.
Hurdy-gurdy-durdy;
Can I borrow your,
Sock, sock, sock,
Sock, sock, sock,
Sock, sock, sock,
Sock?

Dean Saunders.
Wales.
Footie,
Not soccer.
Lesbian,
Or TERF?
Let the transwoman,
Stick her cock in you.

DEI hire?

Burmese Enchantress—The Stanza of Charlene Murgatroyd

Tastes like salmon.
The devil helped himself,
To a Pot Noodle,
From the cupboard.
He was enjoying it,
Until he bit his tongue.
He destroyed,
A nursery,
In his ire.
A busy nursery.

The bear’s long penis,
Hammers the back,
Of my throat.
I’m kinda turned on.

Smear the shit,
Across his chest.
Lick it off.
Throw it up,
Into his mouth.

Welcome, Keithfred!
We were expecting you,
To be much taller,
But you’ve,
A hell of an arse!
Commence with your,
Group wank,
In Room 304.

Tastes like salmon.

Jack Pott—Tom Bowler

Pity the poor trainer,
In the stable,
When the racehorse farts.

Removal,
And safe disposal,
Of Hitler’s testicle.

The Muslim woman,
Sat at the breakfast bar,
With her Jewish fuck buddy,
Each tucking into,
A bacon sammich.
Nommies!

If I may talk,
Momentarily,
And candidly,
About,
My,
Sexual preferences,
Your life would be,
Completely unaltered,
As it is literally,
Nobody’s,
Business,
But,
My,
Own.
If only more folk,
Felt the same…

MAAAIIIIII,
EYE-DEN-TITTY,
DOE!!!

No one cares,
Budlinski!
Piss off!

You’ll never be a sailor,
If your balls hang low.

Fishy-fishy-fish-fish,
Swimming in the sea,
Will you bite my dangling bait,
And become a wholesome tea?

Or dinner,
Depending on where,
You’re from.

Dick In Dick Action—Dual Duel

Bloody Germans!

George Floyd,
And the Massive Lips.

Shortly after,
Shirley gave Bertram,
The old heave-ho,
Then fingered herself,
With a Wispa Gold.

Bacon;
Hash brown;
Cheese;
Mushrooms;
Tomato.
That’s what my ideal,
Breakfast barm would,
Have on it.

Welcome to my crack den!
The used needles,
Are in the far corner.
Crack on.
Ha!—Get it?

I do wish that,
People would stop,
Walking about behind me.
They might see,
What I’m writing,
And have me committed!

Noncey incestuous buggery!

The Flower of Snotland—Bob Save the King

I reserve the right,
To call you mean names,
Whenever I,
So choose,
And there ain’t,
A damned thing,
You can do about it,
Fatty!

Lard arse!

We saw,
What we saw.
A seesaw,
Margery Daw,
“No escaping the maw,
Of common law,”
Said the macaw.

Walking neck-deep,
Upstream,
In a river of shit,
With your mouth open.
A day in the life,
Of the poor man.
Yet some poor men,
Still defend,
Runaway capitalism.
Fucking spastics!

Onto more serious matters…

I ate a sammich,
Made out of,
Dead puppies.
Humanely slaughtered,
Of course.
I’m no barbarian!

Oh deer!
I shot a dear!
Wear?
Somewear over their.
It had brown hare,
And ran up the stares.
Luck, but don’t touché.

I know you are,
I said you are,
But what am I?

Super Pwnage Thomas—Rat Up A Drainpipe

Twat!
I stubbed my little toe,
On your mam’s bed,
After I gave her,
A load of my,
Jism.

“Me mam’s dead,”
You retort.

“Yeah, and? 🤷🏼‍♂️”
I fire back.

NECRO-FUCKING-PHILIA, BITCH!

The seas parted,
To reveal,
An anvil.
Moses was most perplexed.
Superplexed,
Off the top turnbuckle.

Two hours.
One-hundred and twenty minutes.
Seven thousand two hundred seconds.
The lesbian,
Fapped hard,
Thinking of,
A rock-hard cock,
As always.
The pain caused,
By men,
Was just too much,
To bear any longer,
But, boy oh boy,
Did she still crave,
Dat diiiiiiiick!

Imagine devoting yourself,
To the preachings,
Of a paedophile though!
Two billion people do.
Hmmmmm 🤨

Don’t get your burqa,
In a twist.
It’s just a joke.
Maybe…

Dog turd.

A Weary Traveller’s Remorse—With Mashed Potatoes (Feat. Extra Mature Cheddar)

Hey girls!
B-Boys!
Superstar Poemists!
Here we go…

His belly rumbles;
A warning most dire.
A deep, bassy grumble;
This sex is on fire.

“It hurts”, he mutters;
Stuck in a mire.
Nobody gives a shit;
Let it roll like a Mack truck tyre.

In ire, he bellows;
“God loves a trier!”
Your love keeps lifting me,
Higher and higher.

Our elders are scared;
They avoid our stares;
They don’t know the similarity,
Between Common and Roy Ayers;
I guess, to you,
We’re all players!

This ain’t plagiarism!
This is,
Original pirate material,
You’re listening to Ed Sax,
Lock down your aerial!

Has it comes to this?

Silly slag.
Old hag.
Boring nag.
Shit shag.

Lick my taint;
Try not to faint.

I’mma give dat ass room,
Better yet,
Lets fuck in the bathroom,
If we have room,
It’s a full moon.

Now I’m bored.
Fuck off!

Tits—On A Boar

She got a light-skinned friend,
Look like Kevin Bacon;
Got a dark-skinned friend,
Look like Kevin Bacon.

On the job.
On the blob.
Do her in the shitter,
Instead.

Have you ever seen,
A maggot?
A faggot,
In gravy.
Mr Brain.

Push her,
Down the stairs,
If she won’t,
Do as she’s told.
That’ll learn her!

The rings of Uranus,
Glimmer and gleam,
They do not.
They’re too dark,
You see.
Low albedo,
And all that shite.

Only one nipple,
And two gigantic bollocks.
Man milk.

I played Ready for the World,
She was ready for some action,
My dawg said you ain’t no freak,
So you ’bout to prove my man wrong

I’ll Have a Pint of Mild—Make It a Double

Ip, dip, dogshit,
Cunt!

Cunt!

Cocaine up the bum.
Hidden from your mum.

Faggotry of the highest,
Odour.
Dominatrix,
Of the ballbag.

Cocaine up the shitter.
Morgan Stanley Dean Witter.

Terrible twos!
Terrible twos!

Cunt!

You have to,
Shit my pants.

Little Tommy Tucker,
Was a naughty little fella.
Thomas Brian Wilford Two-Shits.
He’s better than you.
Cope harder!

Hardon.

Cocaine up the arse.
The larder is fucking sparse.

Fat women,
If you hate being,
Body shamed,
Stop being fat.
And grotesque.
Fatty!

Diabeetus!

Cunt!

Cracker, Please—Welsh Lives Matter

I shall attempt,
Not to swear,
For the duration,
Of this poem.

No promises.

John Cena.
Your time is up,
My time,
Is 17:15 GMT.
You silly sausage.
Daft apeth.
Blinking wazzock!

I did a wee-wee,
Out of my willy,
And a pooh,
Out of my bum.
Then I had intercourse,
Numerous times,
With your mum.
She has big breasts,
A fishy tuppence,
And loves ejaculate,
Inside of her.

Promiscuous harlot!

Jack, be nimble;
Jack, be quick;
Jack, get on your knees,
And suck on this…

Dick Turpin.
Donald Fart.
Sorry, Trump.

Briefly,
I felt sorry,
For Jeckle O’Shibbledook,
Until I saw,
What was in his,
Underpants.
Ambrosia custard.
Would you believe it?

The Erection Section.
Sponsored by,
Toys R Us.
A Lego building competition,
Is all.

Flipping Nora!