Anybody got any amusing songs or poetry that might prove quite... well... amusing? I have these couple of thingies...
This was written by me and my friends, who are commonly known as 'The Sarahs'
Requiem for a Nervous BreakdownChorusSharon!
Put your pants back on
And get up off the fax machine
Sharon!
Don’t want to see your phlange
Cause it’s hairy and it’s green
Verses
Sharon!
Photocopied her jugs
Took them to the store
And put them on mugs
CHORUS
Sharon!
Liked to get em both out
Take off her bra
And wave them about
CHORUS
Sharon!
Used to get out her bum
Lean against the window
And show everyone
CHORUS
Sharon!
Would bring in her brat
Just to show off her tits
As well as her twat.
CHORUS
Sharon!
Then the boss came in
‘What the hell are you doing?
And can I join in?’
Sharon and the boss were naked on the fax machine
CHORUS
I wrote this one this morning. Yes, I was THAT bored.
SuburbiaThe joys of suburbia, are oft misconstrued,
In satires by poets as vicious and lewd.
But here in the Crescent, we take as we find,
And we keep our lives tidy and fairly refined.
No-one is sure about Mrs. O’Leary,
Although Sapphic by choice, she is winsome and cheery.
She is often seen pedalling her trusty old bike,
Which is missing a saddle – take that as you like.
We live and we love in Wisteria Crescent,
The dog mess is rife, but the neighbours are pleasant.
We all wash our cars on a Sunday at ten,
And by Tuesday the wheel trims are filthy again.
The spinster who lives in that house on the end,
(Never kissed by a man) has her own special friend.
Each evening at nine one can hear her heels drumming,
In time with the purr of her vibrator’s humming.
We lead blameless lives on the fringe of the city,
Our lawns are immaculate, gazeboes are pretty.
We all meet on Thursdays for Neighbourhood Watch,
Where we blame crime on kids and drink way too much Scotch.
On the large corner plot live the Wilkinson clan.
That’s Henry and Madge – and their teenage son, Dan.
One knows that the boy is – quite frankly – a fairy,
Who wears floral dresses and answers to Mary.
But taken all round, it’s a neighbourly street,
We never get raucous, we’re quiet, discreet.
There’s nary a hint of the vile or unpleasant
Behind the drawn blinds in Wisteria Crescent.
Author
