John Cook was riding up
Shooter's Hill,
Pedalling fast
Pedestrians
scattering to avoid being killed
John Cook was riding up
Shooter's Hill,
Pedalling fast
Pedestrians
scattering to avoid being killed
Are you wearing a bustle?
Well, who
am I to condemn
I suppose
everyone seems normal
Until you
get to know them
My acupuncturist attacked me
When she
proper lost her temper
She stabbed
me with a needle
But you
know, I’ve never felt better
My friend raved to me
About his orthopaedic
shoe
But I think
he built them up
Too much in my view
One in four women in this country
Are on meds
for mental illness
So, the rest
are running around
Undiagnosed
more or less
I have a very polite doctor,
Nice to the
point of folly
He won’t
tell me I’m obese
He says I’m
morbidly jolly
When the wine box is empty
I am one of
the thorough types
I rip open
the cardboard
To reveal the
Pinots tripe’s
And squeeze
it dry as I play
The
alcoholics bagpipes