Aloha

I met you at a luau.
I should have acted cooler.
Instead I just got arseholed,
And tried to do the hula.

The Milliner Lifestyle

The world’s full of beautiful wonder,
But nothing approaches, to me,
The beauty and Godlike perfection
Of the science of millinery.
A head is a daft-looking object;
There’s nothing as nice as a hat.
You cover up one with the other,
And what could be simpler than that?
An engineer’s cap or a hard-hat –
To me these are simply divine,
As are garrison hats and fedoras,
And a deerstalker always looks fine.
I’ll always speak up for the newsboy,
No matter what anyone says,
I’ve got quite a thing for a Homburg,
And feel faint when I’m faced with a fez.
I do love a good balaclava,
A bowler or Busby or boater,
A beanie, a bearskin, a beret –
They really put fuel in my motor.
A topper, a tricorn, a trilby,
A shako, sombrero or snood,
A Panama, porkpie or pillbox
Elates me and raises my mood.
I’ve always got time for toreros,
And I like the zucherro and turban.
But I’m not really fond of the do-rag –
I find it a little too “urban”.

Over-Enjoying A Blowtorch

Playing with a blowtorch isn’t big and isn’t clever.
It makes you feel amazing though, the greatest feeling ever.
You twist the little tap thing, which lets the propane out,
Which makes a rather pleasant hiss escaping from the spout,
And then you get your put your finger in a sort of gun position,
Thank God you’ve got a blowtorch, and squeeze on the ignition.
The gas explodes, a shade of blue, the spout begins to roar,
Your heart starts loudly pounding like it never has before.
You’re powerful, invincible, the master of the flame,
Hephaestus was the god of fire, but you deserve that name.
You know you’ll now be idolised and worshiped and revered,
But then you light a cigarette and burn off half your beard.

The Unmasking Of Uncle Batman

You’d sit and regale me with tale after tale
Of adventures you’d had in the past.
The stories you told of the brave and the bold
Would leave me in awe and aghast.
“Tell me one more, Uncle Batman” I’d roar,
And you’d try to be modest and blush,
Pretending I’d rather your brother (my father)
Had kept who you were all hush-hush.
But I really must mention, you loved the attention
As you told me the tales of your capers.
Til I, like a fool, showed off too much in school,
And your name got in all of the papers.
The media freaked, as I sort of had leaked
The discovery you’d so far escaped,
And I was to blame, and they all knew your name –
The Crusader was rendered un-caped.