Like a gaggle of geese
The hen party
traversed
The gaudy Blackpool strip
From bar to bar
And club to club
The tarty group
In their shameless
parade
The legless slappers
Ended the night
Even more undignified
Than they had begun it
“If that’s possible”
Sitting in the gutter
In their own piss and
vomit
I remember like yesterday
That cold and crispy
morn
And just how proud I
felt
On the day my son was
born
He wrote Vintage Stuff
Of Riotous Assembly
And Indecent Exposure
He liked his
Porterhouse Blue
In The Great Pursuit
And was no Blott on
the landscape
Nor was he The
Throwback
With Ancestral Vices
And in the end he
didn’t die
It was just a simple
case of Wilt
It’s my birthday today and I’m seventy three
And I’m fit as a
fiddle, nothing wrong with me
Although my memory's
not like it used to be
And also my memory's
not like it used to be
My wife said I was not myself today
Which I thought was a
funny thing to say
But then she went on
to say to me
She noticed the
improvement immediately
In the C4 Newsroom
Just ahead of the
action
The producer announces
“Lights Camera
Fiction”
It was Friday night and the lads
Were hitting the shots
to get fucked
And two guys walked
into a bar
Before the third one ducked
