Went to the seaside.
With my eternal bride.
Rode on the coash with her loud friends.
Got so mad, went round the bend.
Listened to my Walkman ans fell asleep.
Got to the coast.
and saw rhe sight.
Or rather the blight called Southend.
Got off the coash went for a walk.
Got lost and separated.
I was so glad as we time for us.
Went an took photos.
My wife, foreign, smiled at the sights.
Pale opple trying get brown.
Locl kids bored of ton.
Old people leaving their empty homes to reflect.
Seaside town like my car, showing neglect.
Coiuld do better if they want a new crowd.
For this coast did Britain proud, when times were simple.
back on the coach to Birmingham,
Home of the most miserable folk.
Whose accent really sounds think when spoken.
Bye seaside town fare thee well.
Hope some daytripper had a beter tale to tell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem