William Wanksock.

Packs of five, wooly, striped, toes like a glove.
Searching through the pile for the one that you love.
Under the bed, stuck to the shelf.
Your about to have sex with yourself.

Chain-smoking, overweight, sweaty spectacle.
Tearing up the gaff for your favorite receptacle.
3 and a half billion women do not flock,
To the house of William Wanksock.

The C.I.A. stole my underwear.

The suits they do stare,
Much more than I can bear.
This fucking shit ain’t fair.
They were my best pair.
The C.I.A. stole my underwear.

Those boxers made me a goer.
Must of thought I was a whistle-blower.
Bringing me such pain.
Life-force starting to drain.
One thought however makes me smile.
Is them smelling my piss,
And possibly downloading this.

Harp Lager.

Harp lager. Booze fart in heaven.
Lager be thy name.
My drunken bum.
There will be fun.
In the pub at half past seven.
Give us this day our drunken spread.
And a look at some ladies ass’s.
As we headbutt those that steal our glasses.
And lead us into drug experimentation.
And deliver us from sobriety.

And you loved me anyway.

You carried me for nine months.
Your little bundle of joy.
A mother’s love from day to day.
And you loved me anyway.

And then through my teenage years,
As I made you shed so many tears.
Teachers said I was nobody’s fool.
As I bounced through three secondary schools.
A mothers love that did not sway.
And you loved me anyway.

And as my behaviour became stranger,
Even putting my life in danger.
And you were the one who came and got me out.
After the first time the cops dragged me away.
For you loved me anyway.

What a shock it must of been.
Full on nightmare as opposed to a mothers dream.
Your only son thinking he was inter-solar.
As the doctors diagnosed Bi-polar.
The constant reminder day to day,
That you love me anyway.