People supposes that under her clotheses
This beautiful girl has a body like Venus
What no-one knows is that under her clotheses
This beautiful girl has a very large penis
They look at her from top of head down to toeses
They see this great swell of two bosoms like roses
They note her fine boneses and feminine poses
And think: ‘what a beautiful girl’
But if she don’t shave for a month then her nose is
Choked up with hairs, she is bearded like Moses
And if she uncloses her legs then her hose is
Proof, she’s no beautiful girl
But people supposes on clotheses and poses
Their ideas are based on our outer regalia
What the girl knows but will never expose is
The fact that down there she has male genitalia
On external looks people make diagnosis
Their eyes see some things and their mind then imposes
An idea on which it then somehow closes
And which it will never unfurl
And if this is true, men, then what I propose is
Don’t feel obliged to wear doublets and hoses
If you want to oppose this, wear the right clotheses
You can be a beautiful girl
Friday, 20 June 2008
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
Oh, I Wish I'd Looked After Me Tits!
Maybe not by Pam Ayres…
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me tits,
Those two great front wobbly bits,
All the bad bras I chose,
And the ill-fitting clothes,
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me tits.
I wish I’d been that much more able,
When me front bits was firm, like, and stable,
To choose a twin cuppin’,
To hold me boobs up in,
That were wired up with big bits o’ cable.
When I think of the brassieres I wore,
That made both me bosoms feel sore,
They was either too tight,
Or too loose, like, and slight,
But I didn’t care – I could score!
Me mother she told me no end,
“Don’t you follow that lacy bra trend!”
I was young then and gormless,
Me bras was all formless,
I never had much time to spend.
Oh I slung cloth around em alright,
But I chose things that didn’t fit right,
The lace scraps I bought,
Didn’t give much support,
But I didn’t mind, in the night.
Me mother’s advice did I spurn;
Too late, oh, too late did I learn,
If I’d chosen a brassiere
That looked much less jazzier,
Me boobs now would be much more firm,
Now I lays in me bed and each breast
Do slope down each side of me chest;
They wobbles and jiggles,
Like fat worms they wiggles,
And sits on me knees when I rest.
How I laughed at me mother’s front bits!
Now it’s mine that flop down when I sits.
Me proud, pointed shooters
Now two flabby hooters -
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me tits!
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me tits,
Those two great front wobbly bits,
All the bad bras I chose,
And the ill-fitting clothes,
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me tits.
I wish I’d been that much more able,
When me front bits was firm, like, and stable,
To choose a twin cuppin’,
To hold me boobs up in,
That were wired up with big bits o’ cable.
When I think of the brassieres I wore,
That made both me bosoms feel sore,
They was either too tight,
Or too loose, like, and slight,
But I didn’t care – I could score!
Me mother she told me no end,
“Don’t you follow that lacy bra trend!”
I was young then and gormless,
Me bras was all formless,
I never had much time to spend.
Oh I slung cloth around em alright,
But I chose things that didn’t fit right,
The lace scraps I bought,
Didn’t give much support,
But I didn’t mind, in the night.
Me mother’s advice did I spurn;
Too late, oh, too late did I learn,
If I’d chosen a brassiere
That looked much less jazzier,
Me boobs now would be much more firm,
Now I lays in me bed and each breast
Do slope down each side of me chest;
They wobbles and jiggles,
Like fat worms they wiggles,
And sits on me knees when I rest.
How I laughed at me mother’s front bits!
Now it’s mine that flop down when I sits.
Me proud, pointed shooters
Now two flabby hooters -
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me tits!
Monday, 9 June 2008
Things Not To Do If You Have A Tendency Towards Depression
(1) DON'T stay at home, on your own, on xmas day, watching 'The Pianist' and reading 'The Big Book of Holocaust Poetry' *holds up 'Big Book of Holocaust Poetry'*
(2) DON'T eat so many Freddo bars that you start referring to him as if he is an actual person and people think you finally have a new boyfriend and haven't turned lesbo like they thought.
(3) DON'T visit your mother too often, especially if she is a fake-blonde, foul-mouthed, tough-titted, rollie-smokin', my-head-master-at-school-fucking, milkman-flashing, weetabix-and-kipper-smelling, can't-even-read, skanky gyppo Cardiffite slut.
(4) DO stop taking that box of Ritz crackers to bed with you. Some women wake up lying next to attractive men. Some women wake up lying next to crumbs. Try to be the former, rather than the latter.
(5) DON'T try and figure out which of your "uncles" is your real dad. Chances are it's also the one who felt you up when you were 12.
(6) DO eat enough leafy green vegetables, such as kale, broccoli, and spinach. Lack of essential B vitamins can make you feel ever so blue!
(7) DON'T go in front of a microphone and tell people about your life cos 5 hours later you will feel sick and embarassed and disgusted and end up punching your own arms in hopeless despair and give yourself a huge bruise *holds out arm to reveal huge bruise*. And if you show that bruise to the audience, you'll feel even fucking worse.
(8) DO go to comedy clubs. Laughter is good for the soul!
(9) DON'T go to comedy clubs if you are a fat, jew-looking woman with nothing to talk about except your bad eating habits, lack of success with men, and fact that your mum is a nasty chav cunt who won't tell you who your real dad is.
(10) Smile! Smile, when your heart is breaking... Smile, even though it's aching... Even if you're a secret alcoholic self-harmer currently taking anti-depressants, when you meet other people, just - smile.
(2) DON'T eat so many Freddo bars that you start referring to him as if he is an actual person and people think you finally have a new boyfriend and haven't turned lesbo like they thought.
(3) DON'T visit your mother too often, especially if she is a fake-blonde, foul-mouthed, tough-titted, rollie-smokin', my-head-master-at-school-fucking, milkman-flashing, weetabix-and-kipper-smelling, can't-even-read, skanky gyppo Cardiffite slut.
(4) DO stop taking that box of Ritz crackers to bed with you. Some women wake up lying next to attractive men. Some women wake up lying next to crumbs. Try to be the former, rather than the latter.
(5) DON'T try and figure out which of your "uncles" is your real dad. Chances are it's also the one who felt you up when you were 12.
(6) DO eat enough leafy green vegetables, such as kale, broccoli, and spinach. Lack of essential B vitamins can make you feel ever so blue!
(7) DON'T go in front of a microphone and tell people about your life cos 5 hours later you will feel sick and embarassed and disgusted and end up punching your own arms in hopeless despair and give yourself a huge bruise *holds out arm to reveal huge bruise*. And if you show that bruise to the audience, you'll feel even fucking worse.
(8) DO go to comedy clubs. Laughter is good for the soul!
(9) DON'T go to comedy clubs if you are a fat, jew-looking woman with nothing to talk about except your bad eating habits, lack of success with men, and fact that your mum is a nasty chav cunt who won't tell you who your real dad is.
(10) Smile! Smile, when your heart is breaking... Smile, even though it's aching... Even if you're a secret alcoholic self-harmer currently taking anti-depressants, when you meet other people, just - smile.
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