The triffids that grow in the mountains of Mourne, Can walk at the speed of a tortoise, And boy, are they vicious, as we just found out, 'Cos one of the buggers just caught us. They've eaten my girlfriend, sweet emily Jane, Dissolved her, in green acid goo, They've got me pinned down, are licking their lips, Digesting her, when they are through... They'll haul me into those green leafy jaws, Garotte me, and tear off my head, And then my dear reader, I'll be here no more, For surely by then I'll be dead. But listen up sharp now, for this I must say, Before by these critters I'm eaten, I know of a way they can all be destroyed, There's hope yet, we will not be beaten. All you must do is to go to the fridge, And take out a carton of marge, And spread it on toast, and for foolproof relief, You add to that sandwich some .... arrrgh.
Sunday, September 11, 2005