Trevor - Poem by Phil Ward
We’ve got ourselves a new neighbour,
Trevor is his name,
And he doesn’t know that we know,
That we know his little game,
He moved in only a week ago,
He’s a “middle aged”, old, single guy,
He acts like a stud in his salad days,
And we’ve sussed the reason why.
There’s a number of us single girls living up our street,
And he’s made it very obvious the ones he wants to meet,
He’ll turn up on our doorsteps with a cup for sugar,
But we know what he really wants,
The cunning little bugger.
He came round once quite neighbourly,
And joined our game of cribbage,
But he wasn’t looking at his cards,
His eyes were down our cleavage.
He collars us when we’re shopping and running for the bus,
He’s even joined the WI, and didn’t half make a fuss,
About sexual discrimination and claimed he had the right,
To join in with the ladies on our social night.
We’re getting fed up with Trevor,
He’s a pain in our backsides,
We’ve changed our night to Thursdays,
So his pub night coincides,
Now his choice is us or beer,
At the local down the village,
We hope now things are difficult,
And hope he gets the message.
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