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Verbwhores Poem 2009

Started by Jemble Fred, January 02, 2009, 09:33:42 PM

Previous topic - Next topic

Ginyard

take ryvita and jam and shitloads of spam
or you'll be forced to eat things you don't like

Now here are three things that I quite simply hate:

Sexton Brackets Drugbust


Cambrian Times

Go out in the midday sun.

I have an ice cream
It is vanilla

Sexton Brackets Drugbust

I made a man scream
I am a killer

A killer with vanilla

Ginyard

uses cream to make men scream
just as a goat with tasteful coat
uses horns for popping corns

I'm the firestarter

Cambrian Times

I light fires with a real zest-a
I also use some light fuel
And a packet of Swan Vesta.

Here comes trouble

Ginyard

its PC Pig,
Huffing and snorting to make himself big,
Dressed like a fuzzy felt, tit on his head,
Chasing the easy scores so he gets ahead.

Bound up by red tape like some eastend hooker
That he bribes for fucking because she's a looker
Nicking the innocent, ignoring the men
Who offer him cream from the drugs trade again

Well, that's what I think cos I'm such a shit,
When I just sit here spouting crap like a tit,
Knocking those down who do work that's much harder
Than mine I just sit drinking beer from the larder

And typing dumb posts, and sneering at Boyle
And Gervais and the rest cos I'm a gargoyle
A stone head that's fierce and sits quite obtuse
When, in actual fact, I am nothing of use



Jumpety, humpety, bibbely boo
I am a ghost and I hope you are too




 

Cambrian Times

I live with a werewolf,
And a vampire, we three
Star in a show
On the BBC.

If we had a zombie
Then our cast would be four,
But then we would look
More like "The Wrong Door"

Which, though I'm a ghost
Would make me depress-sed
Cos I hate CGI,
And I loathe Brian Blessed.



Henry Fielding wrote a book
He called it Tom Jones

Ginyard

twas all about some leather pants
and a man who conjured groans
of ecstacy from women
and despair from the women's men
for he was there to win girl's hearts
(he beat Rob Brydon in the sexy charts)
The book's so big its in 2000 parts!
so I wont read it again
oh no, I wont read it again

What's gone wrong with the world?

Jemble Fred

I repeat,
What's gone wrong?
Without this yard of gin,
It would be emptier than it is,
And as it is,
It's emptier than a Smartie tube,
After an extensive period
Of eating said Smarties.

Fucking January is a two-faced bitch,

Cambrian Times

February's a whore
March is a syphiliitic fool
April is not more.
May is like a toothless hag
June a faithless dog
July is like a fetering wound
August the arse of a hog.
September is like a pustulent boil
October a bloody turd
November a goitre of immense size
What December is, I never heard.

I went to market with my basket
Oh whatever should I buy?

Ginyard

How about a telepod
So you can become The Brundle Fly?

Or a Graeme Garden mask
that is used by Goodies fans
to pounce on people who are short
with short attention spans

Oh, here's another sage idea


Jemble Fred

Come to and end round about here.

II FEBRUARY STOLE MY LUNCH MONEY

Skipping through the crisp bags, laughing at the fog,
Wishing February

Ginyard

#43
Smith was here cos I need her for a snog
I'm surveying this wasteland, that was once a lovely park
Till some mates of mine from school decided to use it for drugs after dark

So there are needles and bottles, beer cans and a johnny
The latter still filled with fresh cum
From a young lad called Daniel who took his girl Connie
And went futher than groping her bum

Then he left his rubber legacy draped over the see-saw
Before he chained up the swing
And drew dumb graffiti that said she was easy
With her mobile number so anyone can ring

Jemble Fred

Ring-a-ring-a-cumsack,
A bucket full of shite,
One slap, two slap,


Ginyard

my buttocks now feel right.

Have you ever wondered how easy it might be

Sexton Brackets Drugbust

To climb inside a china cup and paddle out to sea?
It's not. I've tried.
I very nearly died.
And now I stink of fish and tea, and fear the roaring tide.

A much better thing to do

Ginyard

Is to stand in a field a say, simply, 'moo'
And if you're lucky the village vet
Might thrust his fist where you'll ne'er forget
a freebie, just for saying 'moo'
'moo'
'MOOOOOOOOOOOO'



moo

Who wants to be a

Jemble Fred

fraid of Virginia Woolf?
The  bitch is back and roams the countryside,
Uprooting trees and looking for cow impersonators,
Hoping to strike fear
Into their inadequately singular stomachs.
It costs ten quid, and all you have to do,
Is stand on a hedge and bellow:

"Ginny Ginny, Albert Finney,
Won't you make me frit?
Woolfy Woolfy,

Jemble Fred

I'll pay the full fee,
Fill my pants with shit."

So that's February then. A month

the midnight watch baboon

full of pancakes, snow and tossing;
Of birthdays, weekends, black presidents bossing-

Will March march in sight with more good news pipers?
OR willl holidaymakers get picked off by snipers,
In sub-tropical islands, they hide in the mountains,
Had no one to kill, and it's nipples they're counting,
Tourists' tits get reduced by red cherries,
Upsetting their husbands- the Waynes and the Terrys

Cambrian Times

Chocolate oranges that melt in the sun

Baa-Baa multi-ethnic sheep
Have you any lamb?
To the slaughter off they go
Hear the laughter of the stockmen
As the blades come down.
Blood for the Blood-God
A Banquet for Baal
Meanwhile we starve
On the primrose way to hell.

Morrissey, Oh Morrissey,
Whither are you going?

Ginyard

to surf the crest of the sycophants wave?
to bed?
for a shit?

Jemble Fred

Yes indeed.
Thud. Thunk. Thud. Thunk.
Morrissey's done it again.

MARCH: ONWARDS

Perspicacity

Ginyard

is a word I have to Google
As I lay here in my underpants, yanking on my bugle
No, I still don't understand it so I'm going to ask my wife
I'm sure that I'd have got it in my clever former life
When I was a brave soldier, a swordsman for the Queen
I'd cut down foe like butter, just like that cunt Sean Bean
When he was playing Sharpe, and lived in woods on beans
And certainly would have understood what 'Perspicacity' means

Jemble Fred

I want to kiss my sister but I understand it's bad,
I want to lick my Auntie but it's wrong,
I'd also like to

Desi Rascal

murder my dad
and sleep with my cousin
and marry my cat

why can't society understand that

Jemble Fred

Well, fuck me, flowers, and sun, and flesh,
And scarves back in the closet,

the midnight watch baboon

Frogspawn randying young men,
Seeing their ejaculate as amphibia-lite tiny acorns,
Which flourish!

The breezes discuss humanity with the promised rains of mid-spring,

Jemble Fred

But here's one far more popular poetic thing:

There was a young man from Beirut,
Who really, yes really, liked fruit,
But one sunny day,