With the bombing of the docks
and the Scotland Road boozers
you'd think Goering had it in
for Filthy Phoebe and her like.
Phoebe, known as Freebie,
'cos after nine o'clock and half as
many drinks she'd give it away,
seen lurching up and down
through Salthouse, Herculaneum & King's
to Gladstone, Huskisson & Bramley-Moore,
spreading goodwill and gonorrhoea
to freshly paid-off sailors.
As the city and her urinary tract burn
she curses the Luftwaffe for making her
shelter with forty others who do not
wish to use her services,
who, she feels, look down on her,
reeking harridan in the corner,
provider of comforts for the men
and embarrassing complaints for their women.
Ha. A great old ribald ditty just in time. (I needed a laugh this morning) . Great poem. Just great. Easily a 10.
Great fun write Bill, nice to see you posting on here again, 10 Lynda xx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great title, interesting read. I don't see it as ribald or fun, but as sad, though.