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.

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Thursday, March 23, 2006