I have a booze,
And then a snooze
(What’s there to lose?) .
A bottletot of whiskburn warms
My tum.
No sign of smog,
Less still a snog,
As I stay sitting
On my bum.
First it’s the pub,
And then some grub,
With later on,
A tub,
To scrub.
Oh what a life,
We say.
The “perfect” day.
(C) PB Yorkshire, Monday 16\11\09 at 01.00.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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