Boy, playing with yourself, with your mickey
Thinking of gee gee gee and holes
Come here, will ya, it don't come for free
(Didn't they say the best things in life were?
They were off the mark boy. Still are)
Winter dark walks across fields
Pulling it off
Covering the self stimulate with a newspaper bag
Ya spent that money on the same, ya fool,
Part time eegjit
What'd ya want?Some perfumed gourmand with a flat belly
And unbroken hymen?
Some brunette, vivacious and erudite
Who can let you stay in the stall
And introduce you to ex boyfriends
Ya tick lump, ya tink everyone else
Gets it better than you -
Self pitying gobshite
Self deprecating braggart,
Fucking gobstick.
There's a myriad of men
A myriad of ladies holding down
Jobs they can't face,
Loves they no longer practice
With hard nosed souls who can't express opinion
Or a simple view
They have to watch negligent telly
And pay for tunes on iTunes to identify
With others
They don't want to recognize what they want
They put it under, bury it unidentified
They forget their own birthday.
And their mothers.
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