|
|
Brick Lane Books * Novels * Oral History * Ribald Rhymes
*
www.clivemurphy.org
|
|
 |
|
|
 |
| |
Stuck Up
"I wish you wouldn't
call me 'mate'.
Mates we'll never be.
You're rather common, I can tell.
You're Radio 2, I'm 3."
A Paedophile Bemoans His
Lot
Some scout for girls,
I scout for boys.
The younger the better. They're toys.
But, oh, life's not easy.
I'm thought to be sleazy.
Whatever I do annoys.
I can't show affection,
Insert my erection,
Even to show it makes noise.
It's the parents who shout
When sex is about.
Boys, they will always be boys.
I'm trapped in a a box,
Caged by parents' faux shocks.
Without them my way could be done;
The weather'd be sunny,
I'd chase each boy bunny,
Run free as a fox, have some fun.
Amarcord
I met a peacock in the snow.
His tail was far from weeny.
"It once was in a film!" he cried.
"It even thrilled Fellini."
|
|
|
|
| |
 |
|
|
 |
|
| |
|
|
|
|
Summer
Overtures 
