sometimes I like to rhyme about wine

white wine is a wonderful thing

it makes me happy and helps me sing

i sit at my desk tapping away

thinking about the people who make wine every day

the lucky little buggers who crush all the grapes

and the silly old manager who smells like an ape

i wish i could drink wine all the time

but my wife would divorce me and I'd have too live in a mine

either way at least me have each other

I drunk so off to bed

word to your mother!

Nail File?

not sure where I started my day but it was nice enough and warm and there was a least one cushion to rest my legs.

my finger nails weren't painted there normal colour so someone in the night must had tampered with them.

as soon as i got to work i had some eggs on toast without speaking to anyone.

then i had a drink and tried to finger out what had happened to my fingers.

i struggled to stay awake.

i turned the heating off.

played some pool

and spoke to the cat.

Nothing!

who had tampered with my nail file?

It was fun

all men are after pussy.
that is it.
you can see it there eyes.
all they want is to fuck anything they can.
they work eat and breath it.
making money.
working hard to find more pussy.
they stink.
there clothes.
their face.
the shops.
they are in.
the bars they linger in.
all hang around till they find them.
the pussy.
they are there waiting to be fucked.
Me.
I.
Drink wine.
Away from the hole.
At my home
With love from the bottom of my soul.
Cheers to the club
Pub
And the house.
Tonight I'm pissed my friend.
One more glass and I'm done.
See you when we all start writing again
It was fun.
It was fun.

Egg

Egg on toast
Scrambled egg
eggy bread
egg sandwich
with tommy sauce
brown
mustard
no sauce please
salt and pepper
Florentine
Benidict
Pacific
red and white wine
Stella Guinness
Guinness
Guinness
bread and mess
in my bed
don't stop till the clocks go off
in the morning I'll have bacon
had enough eggs

Flat

the flats warm
there's no fly's
bugs are the funk
music stay's on till two
bar's open all night
toaster don't work
books
chairs
and
shit
TV don't show the game
looks like
I'm in the pub

score

my lips were sore from brushing my teeth to hard
when i smile it hurts and my eyes strain from sleeping to much
but what really hurts is my left foot
not my heart
or my soul
my fingers
in the cold
its my left foot
thats alway done it for me
score

road

go. Go on, say something
it's been a while, right
when you don't say out
i'm still here listening to your shit
you whine and cry
you were the bloke at the other side of the room
you didn't say much and no one spoke to you
but i saw them look at what you had
it killed me to see it.
we would lie about what you had
made no mistake
if it wasn't for the blood we share
it all
it all
they said it was bad
how can blood be bad?
what had we done?
i use to sit on the road and watch the cars
they would drive round
and you couldn't see the driver
until one day he got out of his car
and stopped
looked around
and pissed on the road


he never drove again