I Really Like Going To Festivals

My sleeping bag’s eroded,
My tent’s a little smelly,
A can of beer exploded,
I’ve only brought one welly.
The ground’s a bit uneven,
I left my shades in Kent,
And Stu’s been sick on Steven,
Who’s sleeping in my tent.
My phone is nearly dying,
The stage is really far,
A chunky girl is crying,
The sun-cream’s in the car.
My tent-flap keeps unfurling,
I didn’t bring a towel,
Stu just won’t stop hurling,
And Steven’s smelling foul.

A Mew From The Bridge

While stood on the canal bridge,
I found I’d hit a snag.
I’d brought the bricks and kittens,
But not the bloody bag.
But I’m a big ideas man,
I think outside the box.
My improvised solution?
I did it with my socks.

A Man Carrying Lots Of Drugs Goes To A Club

My heart beats loud as thunder as I step towards the door.
I’d not known when to stop and I’d just kept on adding more.
My left front trouser pocket houses several bags of smack.
There’s pipes inside my jacket, and a lighter, and some crack.
There’s amyl and some methadone concealed within my shoes,
My sports bag houses several cans of nitrous and some booze.
There’s opium, diazepam and mushrooms in my case,
As well as pills so strong they’d get a rhino off his face.
A little bit of ketamine is hidden in my sock,
As well as just a tad more crack, one supplementary rock.
My underpants contain a bag that’s filled with coke and acid,
As well as some Viagras if things get a little flaccid.
There’s Xanax, ether, mescaline and weed taped to my thighs
(The ether was a freebie, which was quite a nice surprise).
The sniffer dogs start barking and the bouncers do as well.
It seems I haven’t really thought this through. Oh, bloody hell.
The coppers get involved, it seems my night is at an end,
Until I try “These aren’t my clothes, I nicked them off my friend”.
As desperate fake excuses go, this one seems doomed to fail,
But then they let me go and Dave my flatmate goes to jail.

I Don’t Have A Laundry Basket

Instead I use a cardboard box
To store my dirty pants and socks,
Until I take them, make them clean,
Inside the drum of that machine.

Kebabs Make Me Glad

When I feel depressed, and I’m lonely and sad,
I have a kebab, for kebabs make me glad.
When I’ve had a fight with my mum or my dad,
I have a kebab, for kebabs make me glad.
When I’ve behaved poorly and feel pretty bad,
I have a kebab, for kebabs make me glad.
When I’m feeling cold as I’m scantily-clad,
I have a kebab, for kebabs make me glad.
When I wish that I was a lass not a lad,
I have a kebab, for kebabs make me glad.
When gender confusion is driving me mad,
I have a kebab, for kebabs make me glad.

Playing Scrabble On A Crashing Airliner

The engines failed, we’re falling, it seems we’re pretty stuck,
Unless we land on something soft or have a stroke of luck.
Me and Sean stay focused in our comfy first-class seating,
One board, two racks, a dictionary to make sure no-one’s cheating.
The set we’ve got’s magnetic, which is handy in this panic,
As everybody runs around us, screaming, giddy, manic.
The scores are tied, no letters left, it could go either way,
I’m working out how best to use my eight-points-earning J.
Sean has got the Z to use, there’s several willing Os
And Z O is permissable, though I’m not sure Sean knows.
There’s seconds left. He places down his letter on the board.
Oz. It’s not a word, although the Z is triple-scored.
I stare, debating whether I should challenge this and win –
We’ve got the book here with us that that word is not within.
“You’ve won” I say, and take his hand. I’ve given him the game.
Although he cheats at Scrabble, he’s my brother just the same.

I Love You, I Swear

I have to bloody say this –
I gitting well adore you.
I’ve felt this since the first time
I arsing turding saw you.
You’re really bastard stunning,
I twatting love your hair,
It bollockses my mind up
And makes me cocking swear.
My heart goes dickhead crazy,
I’m farting hooked on you,
So when you’re sodding near me,
The air turns titting blue.
Now hold my fucking hand, dear.
We’ll speak as we see fit,
And I can be your wanker,
And you my piece of shit.