We were distracted by where our penis lies, hairy muff, mate, hairy muff, I’ve got a crush on cherry cola and the perfumed passengers, been running with a hard-on fire, or was it fish, chips and mushy penis? seven steroids to heaven that would fit into a sour pan, watching a famous Princess cry tears on paranoia, a bloke with arse burgers broke into the American military intelligence unit, a member of the fair haired, blue eyed no-dick community, have a ‘‘love Lee’’ time in Paris, your country is proud of the courage, heroin, and resolve shown in defending her, your heroin and heartbreak will live long in the memory that’s sandy, be careful of a tiger, you may get more than you bargained for, it could be a ladyboy, drinks with faeces in them are bad for your teeth, look at the pile of fizzes that that rhino has left, you bunch of cults! you bunch of coats! 7 that is scared of seven is fortifying, what’s the average trouser length(s) on this estate? The size of Sid James Palace? the A Team in Yates’s getting shot at with a round of Jaguar bombs, I am of special sausage descent, but have yet to see the special sausage Highlands in person, New Zealand is like a hot version of those special sausage Highlands, the bald man has a bug’s hair, mental is a bitter fruit, and if you eat too much seafood you’ll get porn breath, sponsored by stair century, a mocking two door house, would you like any Dalek bread with that? Na, one chemo naan please, and a manga, ah, the old walrus has done it again, use your noose, I’m just gonna have a little Odeon around the house, and if you see me and I look like a drip, you shouldn’t take it as a reflection on you, I took a lift and I’ve got flair with my fur top, what tents shall I write in? circumcise the world of rationality in a school called Desolate Humanities, these are our favourite surfaces, tug his wasp and moth, he’s got his cum face on watching Wankerman as an anaconda eats a little boy from Hull, if you wanna know if he loves you so it’s in his dick, prod slaying in Chadwell Heath with your mate, Porn Gooch, all my luggage I will send to you, everybody in the club get tits, they haven’t come together yet because they didn’t like leaving the dock, is The Rock driving you to the airport to meet them? It’s all broken into little bits and pizzas, I don’t like draft, post code, yours, darling? So it’s based on a player’s rape of ability to dive? Heaven must have shit you with a Tehran of abuse, ‘‘FREE STANDING!’’ at Stratford train station, studying a degree in Creative and Professional Fighting, print off the Leotard reading for Modern Times, I dig them drums in gentle culture and nature, THIS TOILET IS TO BE USED BY LIBRARY CUSTOMERS ONLY. INAPPROPRIATE USE WILL NOT BE TOILET RATED.
Written by Ricky Murray
Livin’ in a gangster’s paragraph, we are living in a massage, he’s constipated on his phone, my favourite is the dead parody sketch, I fancy a tin of fake beams on toast, but what shall I have for my main corpse? the King of Spam, King of Spade and the King of Spanners colonises the Americas, I need to go to the super muppet-meerkat to do some shopping, your eyes are more a British colour, I’d like a shelf shagging job at the library, it’s disgusting how people are being told they should shag shelves for free at the 99p store, I swallowed a hard-on, don’t worry about me, I’m just social warrior, who said the dog wanted to be Imodium with a tramp at Susan Boyle’s anal launch party? Lee Cattermole has tweeted a muscle in his leg, it’s a real shame for him, get the ball out to the white men, the England cricket team takes two gits from Sri Lanka, brown sauce in your tea, crack but not tea, Morris dancing is one of the greatest ever lyricists, ah, I should’ve brought Negros it’s pretty cold tonight, he buys his clothes from Crymark, do you have a button opener on your keys? KNICKers! did you make conscious use of automatic pier? Look, it’s perfectly Sybil, Simple is not well, the Cheshire crooner gave the cause of death as hanging, ‘The Best GILFs from Captain Planet 2’, The Ballad of a Tin Man, this song’s in the key of deep, do you like the music of master race? we work near obvious, can you smell a John? send a message to mail chip, we’ve got some badgers to sell, they’re the last in this colour, the band are having some shoe issues, write a talking giraffe about your holidays, you are the weakest leak, GOODBYE! I prefer moose to snake, No E.Coli poisoning from rat burgers, whose gnomes? they really did wanna stroke pies for a living
Written by Ricky Murray