By the time I get to Bristol she'll be dressing, Preparing for a night out on the town, With gems and make-up, men she'll be impressing, As Through those Clacton streets she'll wander down. By the time I get to Oxford she'll be drinking Tequila sunrise, giving men the eye, And hitching up her skirt a tad, while thinking, The best way to entice a wealthy guy. By the time I get to Romford, she'll be snoring, Her head down in a plate of soggy chips, Exhausted from her evening's bout of whoring, Her mini-skirt rucked up around her hips. Ah, but then I get to Clacton and I find her, And give her one more tickle with my tool. And as I get up from her bed remind her, To go to sleep or she'll be late for school.
Thursday, March 23, 2006