In my youth I adored Brigitte Bardot,
Had pictures from films where she starred-o,
And places she'd play,
in Cannes or St Tropez,
Or glittering in Monte Carlo.

But now I must start on my task.
Miss Bardot, alas, I must ask
You to put from your mind,
In place you will find,
A beaurtiful young Monegasque.

'Twas there in a lavish casino,
Where jewellery sparkles like vino,
The roulette wheel spun,
"Alors, I have won!"
Leaned o'er for her chips, then one Gino...

...Fast speared our young lass from behind,
With a prick, which that man did unwind,
Though it felt rather pleasant,
It shouldn'a been present,
For a memory came to her mind.

As you all know the tale  have no fears,
I'll not trot it out for you hear,
As was told by your nurse,
The poor girl was cursed,
To sleep 'round for fifty-odd years.

She was at the time Vingt-et-un,
And soon set about having fun,
So she let down her hair,
Got the chemin de fer,
Black Jack was her lay number one.

Each night she'd a new man to poker,
Didn't need to resort to a Coca
Cola type bottle,
For what she had got all
Those gamblers would glad play their joker.

In Cannes, by the light of the moon,
You'd see her down on the pontoon,
With some new young stud,
A-pummelling her pud,
At it in morn, night and noon.

But here fairy tales go astray.
"For ever"'s a very long way.
She's now seventy one,
Fifty years gone and done,
Shagged out, and can no longer play.

So lads, if to Monte you go,
For the Rally, or for a strip show,
There at the stage door,
Is a raddled old whore,
Keep clear folks, you won't want to know.




Tiddy.
[The things I make you lot read, just because I tried to rhyme Monegasque! That 
is an inhabitant of Monaco, in case anyone didn't know.]

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Last updated: Thu, 23 Sep 1999.