Mate got heavy honked up oan 2 boatos of black destiny last night and fired intae a big fuck off bag of VHS a goat oot the Starvation Army shoap.
Pure papped oan that Dead Poets Society hinkin it wid be full of cunts gettin panned in.
Heavy hummin.
Dafty wee guys talkin like big Steph Fry and mad hairy Peter Pan fae Hook geein it the big patter.
Mate ma poetry will burst yer Da's ring open like an egg in the gub of a steamin dug.
This wans called "Stingey Granda" and its aboot a pure cunt of a Granda.
Right here we go......
Stingey Granda
Stingey to his son,
now stingey to his grandson,
he detestes fun,
preffering a world with no sun,
finding the beano expensive,
recyling tea bags extensive,
stealing pens from his auld work,
looking for snout douts in dog's dirt,
hitting the park with no lunch,
it's not only ants who'll steal from your picnic,
snout dout behind the ear,
bin liner covering gear,
refusing to waste cash on aspirin for terminally ill wife,
buying pleather is the high life
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