Arse over tits

Overnight ferries blast dreadful bar bands

Didn’t stop me drinking heavily at sea

No problems with customs is just quite refreshing

Heaven forbid they search my cavity

Just enough coins gets a stale English breakfast

The Sun is a rag, topless tarts on page 3

Lost track of how often I’ve visited Lincoln

98 percent white, it’s like time traveling

It’s slower than Christmas in this part of the country

still I never get tired of all that I see

rashers and bangers and Lincolnshire Pasties

the pudding was black and the eggs were sunny

Dambuster was sharp, more so was Blackbomber

I’ll pass on Marmite and Branston please

Gammon with eggs, or bacon on Kedgeree

And why haven’t I heard of Anglo-Indian cuisine

Gravy on tatties and Yorkshire Pudding

Shepherds’ or cottage pie, your choice is the meat

Home cooked meals trump above all else

But it would be criminal for me to leave out the sweets

Creams eggs and flakes, nik naks and hob nobs

Or perhaps Jaffa cakes, or a classic dairy cream

Batemans in the sun, snuck off for some scratchings

The simpleton’s teeth look just like baked beans

Chavs and slappers and gypos and tinkers

Skegness is cheap, above is the reason

Pheasants and rooks and moorhens in dykes

Jack’s after the Hare, running off through the trees

Tracy knocked out the vocals, Alan blasted Ian Dury

Was at first uncertain, then came serendipity

Arse over tits for this side of the pond

Come 2013, we’ll do it in Greece…


~ by thmjklmstrymn on April 1, 2012.

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