Hard-Fought Discoveries
Sun Crossword
Four across and rhymes with queasy
Starts with E, 'a total breeze'
The Sun crossword’s pitifully easy
Be nice if one day posed a tease.
Approach the girl in sleazy bar, her docile smile responds to wink
Ten-a-penny the country over, win her heart with one cheap drink.
With flattery and feigned interest you fake-laugh her jokes with your disguise
This selling-out is soul destroying, with each forced laugh part of you dies.
Sun crossword’s bereft of guile,
To conquer's seldom hard.
The puzzle's tepid is its style
Designed for the dullard.
A promise here, sweet nothing there, the simple charm attack
Sees easy girl covering cab fare, then lying on her back
A soft stroke here, a firm tug there and she’s trembling through the roof
But as the lark sings in the morn, this girl will learn the truth.
Complete crossword, achieve nothing
Where was that cryptic test?
Was more like mounting a six inch curb
When I crave Everest.
Awake with tight arm round your neck, stare in those needy eyes
Claustrophobia now the price you pay for last night’s no-frills ride.
From bed you creep, from window leap, while she has morning turd
Ponder whether life be simpler if content with Sun crossword
Hasty Wipe
Room with bath, urgent desire
Y-fronts meet socks and now he fires
Those bombs of waste crash steadily
Like the Luftwaffe over Coventry.
Time's of the essence, an unnatural hurry
Spies between his thighs, detects last night’s curry
Flash glance at watch, taxi can’t be missed
Has blitz relented? Will he stick or twist?
Soft misjudged swoop rings alarm bell
Like a moth to flame into trap he fell
Writing’s now on wall, as he hears cab’s horn
But it drives away as ring-piece gets worn
Only seems to happen when behind the hour
Or tragic lack of roll left when freshly showered
Chastises himself with wipes of brutal power
Now he limps to date, like a bent sunflower
English Flops
No Wimbledon champion and here lies the blame,
If you’re rich then you’re welcome to join in our game
Those gifted but hard-up must stay away please,
Snobbishness and hierarchy, English tennis disease
No hunger nor skill but young Myles has new gear,
Looks the part, but at tennis no hope or idea
Milked parents, paid mega-bucks but all this in vain,
As you can’t buy desire nor toughness of brain
Tennis in England's a huge freemason's gig
Criteria for entrance - a wallet that’s big
Society with secrets, blows millions each year
But excluding the ‘riff-raff’ has again proved so dear
One day you’ll find Myles in commentary box,
Spouting like once Federer with the other sad flops
Each devoid of real passion, worn phrases they’ll say,
Posh drones now bore budding young champions away
To me it’s so criminal denying access to sport
On the face of lawn tennis a huge royal wart
So break with tradition, reverse this sick plight
Or stick strawberries where the sun sees no light
Forgot what?
Cocksure strode into the different room,
But for what or why he did forget
Old grey matter did a bunk too soon
His purpose can’t be answered yet.
Stares at the walls of the curious room
Through 80s fridge where Nat West card rests,
Mind reverse, retrace staggered steps
Panicked eyes scan for clues of this quest
Not yet 30 und Auf wiedersehn memory
Mind waved its au revoir at last Glastonbury
He’s sure a cup of tea’s not behind this roam
Sees a vision of his future in a mental home
Then majestic second of clarity!
Sweet rays from the Lord set a blank mind free
It was the puddle in the corner shining up at he,
Some recollections of his cat acting sheepishly.
Tackles piss with mop to brain's muted cheer
Convinces himself that there’s no problem here.
Breezes from different room, closes worry behind
Bankcard still in fridge confirms he's lost his mind.
Hefty Sentence
Paid working day for last night’s crime,
Such guilt, remorse and aching spite
The mid-week drink traps next days’ time
So prisoned brain can see no light
With friends I spoke and laughed so well
Drained 7 pints at gentle speed
My sin was hearing landlord’s bell
But knew no malice, hate nor greed
Clock siren wailed to sheer dismay
As eyes unlocked I knew my plight
In hell I lay, agonized at day
Like armless boxer starting fight
Throughout rough work my staring eyes
Magnified trivial empty fears
Befuddled brain saw logic die
As anxious doubts rang through both ears
For split second, my thoughts did steer
To envy alkies cheating this
Bail secured with morning beer
A plan I wrestled to dismiss
Enlighten You
PLACE ‘PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE’, ‘FAKE PLASTIC TREES’ AND ‘DISEASE’ IN YOUR HEADS
WITH ‘GLASS ONION’ AND ‘DAY IS DONE’ ‘THIS IS THE ONE’ LOVE SPREADS’
YOU ‘LOOK, KNOW’ ‘I LIKE TO BLOW’, ‘KINKY AFRO’ AND ‘LAID’
HEAR ‘NEW DAWN FADES’, STROKES' ‘RAZORBLADE’ AND STUDY ‘GIRL AFRAID’
THIS ‘SECRET DOOR’, ‘MAGICAL MYSTERY TOUR’, ‘IN MY LIFE’S A ‘BEST FRIEND’
LIKE ‘MADE OF STONE’, ‘YOU’LL NEVER WALK ALONE’, IS ‘MY WIFE’ ‘TO THE END’
HEARD FALL’S ‘FREE RANGE’ AND ‘SOMETHING CHANGED’ WHEN I WAS ‘JUST’ ‘SIXTEEN’
SOME ‘EIGHT MILES HIGH’, ‘SPIRIT IN THE SKY’S ‘THE MODEL’ ‘MUSIC SCENE’
YOU’LL HAVE NO ‘F.E.A.R’ ‘ELIZABETH MY DEAR’ ‘WHATEVER’ ‘SOME MIGHT SAY’,
FOR WITH ‘INSIGHT’ ‘THERE IS A LIGHT’ ‘YOU CAN GO YOUR OWN WAY’
NO ‘GOLDEN BROWN’, IN ‘DIRTY OLD TOWN’.. ‘THE MASTERPLAN’ ‘THESE DAYS’
CAN ‘SET ME FREE, WITH STREAMS OF WHISKEY’ ‘HELP’ING ‘GOLDEN GAZE’
‘TUESDAY BLUESDAY’
The trials of a Tennis Coach
A six day week makes sense to me,
With four at work and two off free
For time's precious, yet willed away,
Especially on that wretched day
Its 8am, the wind is strong,
This first kid’s backhand is all wrong
You tell him why, he drops his head,
You wish you hadn’t left your bed
Second lesson slides more downhill,
You feed the ball, her legs stay still
Having missed the thing she answers phone,
Like getting blood out of a stone
Third kid asks ‘is serving done at sea?’
We’re two minutes in and he needs a wee
Why does this punk roll up each week?
I know life’s a test but this is bleak!
With number four comes more bad news,
Forgotten kit, patience you lose
Bite lip so hard “God’s sake” you say,
Cursing he who invented Tuesday
But last child, am I seeing things?
Hits this perfect stroke and my heart sings
Amidst the miles of hell, there was an inch of heaven,
Perhaps the reason there’s not six but seven
CORAL THIEVES
As you step in betting shop, blue-shirt man gives wry smile,
Fifty in your pocket but it won’t be in short while
You really have strong feeling of that money going far
But when the clock ticks 5pm there’ll be no last hurrah.
Cardiff have good pace in team, important nowadays,
And Chopra is now fully fit and scores whenever plays.
Their manager has fine record I heard Geoff Stelling say,
Know bet's a cert, see nothing else than Cardiff win away.
Grab midget pen and reach for slip, lets get this bet arranged,
But before ink has ticked the box, you’ve noticed something’s changed
The Bluebirds odds have plummeted, was promised 5/4!
Now this is when you should abort and use the exit door.
At 5/6 the risk's too great; scan slip for more value,
Hear blue-shirt man tell punter that he’s stuck a load on Crewe,
Like a fool you hear, his words so clear, advice you’ll later rue
He also mentions Cardiff team’s been hit by bout of flu!
Now three o clock’s approaching some decisions must be made,
On entry was no seed of doubt but now your brain's been swayed
So you tick by Crewe, join the queue, now wrong bet has been laid
Throughout the year, his sneer you’ll hear, for his salary you have paid
JOB C PLUS HE
So giro day, you make your way, through stale doors of green,
You’ve made the call, your pride takes fall, now wait till you get seen
No hope beyond this lifeless pond, a dreary dismal view,
But it gets worse, my luck's perverse, I see face I once knew
Now back at school, this kid weren’t cool, could barely even read,
Was in the class that couldn’t pass, the heart of special needs
But now my fate has made this date and he wears badge of pride
He holds the cards, now I’m retard and in for a rough ride
His eyes alight, in sheer delight, he can’t contain his glee
He asks if I will have a try at chicken factory!
The cheek of he, indignity, the sheer inhumanity
Ten quid a day can float away, fuck Job Centre plus he
Last Round
I tell this tale with sad regret
Of ones who try and slip through net
When wallets out break into sweat
And last up with their round
In bars and clubs frequent about
They’re first ones in and last ones out
Accepting Guinness, ale and stout
But last up with their round
When time for drinks they sit on fence
Insulting our intelligence
Out on the tiles at our expense
Still last up with their round
Prey on the cats who are too kind
They may fool them, but I’m not blind
A worse stigma I’ve yet to find
Than ‘last up with their round’
Now back at home, what do they think?
"I’ve swerved a round and chinned free drink
Have saved a score but now I stink...
Of ‘ last up with my round’"
SHIT
LATELY I’VE BEEN…
WALKING SHIT, TALKING SHIT, TWEETING SHIT AND EATING SHIT
DRINKING SHIT, THINKING SHIT, POKING SHIT, AND SMOKING SHIT
GAMBLING SHIT, RAMBLING SHIT, COUGHING SHIT, I FEEL UNFIT
COOKING SHIT, LOOKING SHIT, MY TEETH ARE TURNING BROWN A BIT
TOO MUCH….
WEEING SHIT, PEEING SHIT, THAT FUNNY NASTY RUNNY SHIT
SOGGY SHIT LIKE DOGGY SHIT, THAT QUEER, DIARRHOEA SHIT,
THE TIRED SHIT, WHEN WIRED SHIT THAT REEKS OF RUNCORN GAS WORK’S PIT
AND RUSHED OLD SQUIT, NEEDS BRUSH AND KIT…BE NICE TO EXCRETE SOLID SHIT
SHOULD BE…..
SMARMING IT, WITH CHARM AND WIT, AND LEARNING SHIT, TO EARN PACKET
SEWING KIT, START TO KNIT, BEHAVE IN PERFECT WAY FOR IT
LEAVE BORING GITS, IGNORE SAD TWITS, PURSUE THE TIT, GET FIGHTING FIT
MUST JOG A BIT, FEEL BENEFIT, GET BACK ON COURT AND HAVE A HIT
BUT IN THIS AGE …
THE DAYS ARE SHIT, WAYS ARE SHIT, THAT CAMERON’S FUCKING WRECKING IT,
MUSIC’S SHIT, ‘THAT’S A HIT’??? AT LOUIS WALSH I’D LOVE TO SPIT
MORE TO IT THAN 'I PHONE SHIT’, AND TATTLE TIT, HOW POSH AND BECKS GET DOWN TO IT
FOOTBALL’S SHIT, EXPENSIVE KIT, FOR FIFTY SEE DIVING NIT WIT
NEWS IS SHIT, THE SHIT THAT’S WRIT, THOUGH SAVILE WAS PERVERTED GIT
HE GAGGED THE RAGS, BEST FRIENDS WITH MAGS, THAT TORY HAG... IRON LADY TWIT
JIM GROPED GIRL’S TITS, CRAVED YOUNG TEEN CLITS… TURNED ALL THOSE PURE LIVES INTO SHIT
I
'ROULLETE MISTRESS'
With her, a painful costly fling
Miss crack cocaine of gambling
‘Please put it in’ she’d softly sing
Could’ve bought a 3 grand wedding ring!
In honeymoon, some give and take
But as lust grew I upped the stake
I’d think of her at night awake
There was to be no wedding cake!
I’d spin her round, she’d give me ride
Paying more and more to get inside
That whorish temptress stole and lied
Until all love for her had died
Yet still I saw that tempting bitch
I’d visit her and scratch my itch
I got so poor whilst she got rich
Our relationship’s fundamental hitch
I ended it and left her dive
Still think of her…but I’ll survive
This new one makes me feel alive
My sexy Betty 365
FUCK MY LIFE I'M GOING BALD
a A
Ah fuck my life i'm going bald
Pubescent curls have sadly stalled
To middle-age abruptly called
Ah fuck my life i'm going bald!
Fuck a duck it's dissapeared
And pissed off to my nose and ears
A horse-shoe cunt is often jeered
Fuck a duck it's dissapeared
For fucks sake I am pure irrate
Declared bankrupt on hair estate
And i've not yet seen 38
Oh fucking hell i'm mad irrate
Fuck you God is this my karma?
Dismantling my youthful armour
In mirror see the Dalai Lama
Fuck you with your heinous karma
Oh Christ alive i've feared this day
Do I shave the lot and wear beret?
Or save up for a mint toupee
I'll look a twat...whichever way!
