Nil Desperandum–Walking Like A Libyan

The larder is bare,
Like your arse.
Put some pants on!
Slag!

Riding shotgun,
In Haverfordwest,
Bûm gall unwaith;
Hynny oedd,
Llefain pan ym ganed.

Show this,
To your mother,
Then punch her,
In the throat!

Maybe,
Just maybe,
Josef Fritzl was,
Just misunderstood.
Maybe…

Lest we forget,
Little Tommy Two-Shits.
He is,
After all,
Better than you!

I hit a bum note.
Ha–fudge packer!
My knob,
Is smaller than yours,
But much sexier.