Sod's Law

(in a Cardiff accent)

Bratcher and Bestie and Boppo and Biff
Went down the drope for a beer an a spliff
It was July they was all sweating conkers
Cos they was still wearing shell suits the plonkers
An Bratcher was wearing a Burberry cap
Thar he got down Bessemer Road
An Bestie fake filas he bought from a chap
Who said he had come by a load
An Boppo a chain thar he nicked off some bloke
When he beat him up outside the legion
An Biff just had acne but he liked a smoke
An dealt all the blow in the region
So Bratcher and Bestie and Boppo and Biff
Smoked up the grass till their eyes went skewiff
An drank down the beer an smoked a bit more
An soon they was all out of carling an draw
An lay on the grass an talked about stuff
Like who of em got Hayley Jones up the duff
And which one done Kayley an which one done Kelly
And did they all fink tha tha Laura was smelly
An who raped Shanice did she call the police
A pie or her pasty, which had more grease?
And should they all go up and do her again
They'd teach her to be more respectful to men
They'd slap her the slapper and kick wiv their Kappas
And rape to the rhythmic rhymes of their fave rappers
And then they'd nip off down the Knap for a nap
And hope that the cow hadn't give um the clap
Tho if she had least they'd all have it together
They was good mates and would be mates for ever
In a world full uh sluts, they was firm butts
And so saying that they lay down on the grass
And slept, in such a way that they all had their nuts
Facing the crack in their firm butt's firm arse.

But as they slept -
From over the woods and far away
Came an elf sprite bright and gay
A fairy with a magic wand
That liked young boys brunette and blonde
It sprinkled moon dust in the eyes
Of these macho mashed up guys
Or maybe it was Martian dust
Or from Uranus, for with lust
It filled each lad, each loyal brother
Not for birds - but for each other...

When Bratcher and Bestie and Boppo and Biff
Woke from their nap they was all feeling stiff
Not in their arms or their backs or their necks
But down in their white low-slung bri-nylon keks
They had this weird feeling, a strange sorta itch
They looked at each other and started to twitch
They was block up on drugs and block up with juice
They'd lost all their senses - their shell suits come loose
Stark naked they stood, down Ely wood
And their own Ely wood was soon up to no good
As they fondled and thrusted and twisted and kissed
For years they'd repressed, now they couldn't resist
They forgot about Hayley and Laura and Kelly
They forgot about raping that slut
For they had discovered the best kind of cherry
Is covered in dark chocolate
And it tasted good, and they all chose to swallow
The first course was semen, with chocolate to follow
And Bratcher buttered the baps of each boy
And Bestie snacked on each sweet saveloy
And Boppo found that a finger of fudge is good enough to eat
And Bratcher discovered he did like salami
And with Bestie's white bread made a nice sarnie
And Boppo turned all of his fingers into a chocolate-y treat
And when Bratcher and Bestie and Boppo and Biff
Was all fulla fluid like bottles uh Cif
Their itches all scratched, their urges unblocked
They broke like a jigsaw, their bodies unlocked
And they all fell asleep on the grass once again
And into sweet dreams, four satisfied men…

But of course some hours later when they awoke
They couldn’t believe what they done
The spell had worn off, they all blamed the dope
They put on their shell suits and run
Away from the Drope and back to their mums
Four shell-shocked blokes with very sore bums
And got in their beds and all sucked their thumbs
And cried, cos inside, each of em knew he was homo
But if you are tough, then being a puff, is always a definite no-no
So all four repressed it and never discussed it
And in fact never spoke they was all so disgusted
They all blamed the fairies, the goblins, the elves
They couldn’t accept they was fairies themselves
And they married or moved as soon as they could
And forgot what they done that day down Ely wood

And the moral is this: the most macho fellas
Who usually treat women like slags
Will often turn out to be real Cinderellas
Lady boys, homos and fags
If gays make you feel queer then you’re queer
If they don’t then you’ve nothing to fear
But sod’s law dictates, if you feel strong distaste
Then that fairy will, one day, appear