Irish house party

After the pub, back to the gaff,

Bag full of cans, time for a laugh.

Different tunes, no time to think,

Queue for the jacks so puke in the sink.

Roll up a joint and pass to your mate,

Look for a snog, let’s tempt fate.

Check upstairs then check downstairs,

No women here, its time to despair.

Another fucking sausage factory,

Just one more Irish house party.

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Dreams are better than reality

Dreams are better than reality,
Serotonin is such a precious commodity.
A Utopian state is an unknown rarity,
Whereas a dream is an oasis of creativity

In our beds, as we enter REM sleep,
Our brain cut loose, cast into the deep.
The lottery, sex, fame and sporting endeavours,
I wonder will we dream when we become cadavers.