Five, Four, Three, Two—John

Wispy beard of inglenook;
Drowned in sorrowful glances.
A bike from Halfords,
Got a puncture.
For fuck’s sake!

Up to your elbow,
In cunt juice.

Get the gist.
Have you got it?
Nice tits.
Finger me,
With your cock.

Just because,
I get bummed a lot,
Off men,
Doesn’t mean I’m,
A fudge packer.

Ha-weeeeeeeee!
Gimp.

Season your chips,
With dried shit flakes.
Shit with sugar on.
A haddock.

An anvil.
A pair of nknkinckers.
Dyslexic cunt!
Pubes.

Player One continue?
Or chicken out,
Like the chicken shit,
We all know you are?
Purrit in th’laaaaarrrrder!

Larder.

Larder.

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