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.

The Rules Of Drinking

Cider with ice can be very nice.
Cider with shit will make you unfit.

Scrumpy then bitter – your wife’s getting fitter.
Bitter then scrumpy – your wife’s getting lumpy.

Cider then whisky can be a bit risky.
Whisky then cider, turn into a spider.

Bitter then port, you’ll end up in court.
Port and then bitter, end up somewhere shitter.

Brandy then schnapps, prepare to collapse.
Schnapps before brandy, you’ll think that you’re Gandhi.

I Am Not A Vegan

Eating loads of vegetables just doesn’t quite appeal.
Does something with no meat in even constitute a meal?
Meat is super awesome and I’m rather keen on eggs,
And milk is full of calcium for stronger arms and legs.
Plus lentils are disgusting and I’m not a fan of seeds –
It seems no vegan diet is conducive to my needs.
Sweets are full of gelatine, which vegans don’t allow,
And nothing’s as delicious as a chunky slice of cow.

Fad Diet

Ask me how I lost the weight.
It’s just a crazy diet.
I read it in a magazine
And thought that I should try it.
Apparently they learnt it from
Dogs and other species –
Instead of buying food from shops
You just re-eat your faeces.

Oxford Drunk

He’s a bastard who’s mastered the art of getting plastered,
Who’s burning the earnings he made with his learnings –
A thinker, a drinker, a Methuselah sinker,
Who’s quicker to bicker when filled up with liquor.

Meal For One

I’m a single gentleman and, while it can be fun,
There’s nothing more depressing than preparing meals for one.
Half the time there’s great big number ones across the label,
Reminding you how many souls are seated at your table.
The packaging, the serving size, the blandness of the flavours,
All are awful, plus don’t do your anus any favours.
It’s processed skanky food no dietician would condone,
And everything about it seems to scream out “YOU’RE ALONE”.

I Am Beer

I’m made out of fermented hops,
And sold in bars and pubs and shops.
I’m often cold and often fizzy,
And lots of me can make you dizzy.
I come in bottles, pints and cans
And figure lots in party plans.
Too much of me can make you vomit
But hopefully you learn things from it.

Chip Shop Girl

A pretty girl just sold me chips
And brightened up my day.
Perhaps I should have told her.
Should I go back and say?
“You’ve made my day a better one
By being oh so pretty.
Just seeing you has made the world
Thirteen percent less shitty”.
She probably wouldn’t like it,
She’d be freaked out I think,
But maybe she’d be flattered
And we’d go out for a drink.
Perhaps she’d lean towards me
And she’d kiss me on the lips
And then she’d be my girlfriend
As romance would bloom from chips.

Beans Beans

A can of beans for breakfast,
For lunch another can.
Two cans of beans for dinner –
I’m a baked bean-loving man.
They’re sometimes Happy Shopper
Though I tend to favour Heinz,
And I sometimes get unusual looks
In supermarket lines.
I rarely read the paper
Or pick up magazines –
I’d do so, though, if they contained
More articles on beans.
I like the world I live in,
And my baked bean-heavy life.
I’m happy now, since I divorced
My pasta-loving wife.
My stomach starts to turn at thoughts
Of penne or linguini –
I only cope with meals that are
Magnificently beany.

Ribs

That shop sold me a bunch of pork,
A napkin and a plastic fork.
It all comes in a handy bucket,
But self-restraint is – ah, just fuck it.