Conversational Miss Herrings Part X

In the hospice he dyed his hair wearing auction number silk nightie/This cider tastes more happily when reading in the shade with vegetable coffee/You can see it clearly once you cut the TOWIE off/#mycannedcunts/There’s the owl cove/Suddenly, I’m hip with the lobster arena/Take a picture of me with the red tree in my behind/It’ll be iron pinked/I’m not a boy here by the sea/No wonder there’s someone playing a vampire in that area/We’re shitting out our drums/No time to fuck ourselves sitting on the fence/His dad takes his knife savings on holiday along with my Kinks College holdall/Gotta get back to my treadmill like a fridge/This colour are on tonight/Glitter people do it half-heartedly/Hmm, breakfast noodles/Cow dung, calling home/We fly balloons on the fields of love. Want a chicken chat?/I’m lactose intolerant and once I eliminated diaries, the backne cleared quick/When I’m needing a pee, you are near/Big Mac Double Room – Muslims needed from Central London/With an entire alternative royal family waiting in the Whigs, the survival of the sickly Protestant wing of the Stuarts was of major religious, political and strategic importance/We act out the case like they do at the fleas’ station/Here I come Mrs. Gooseberry/Keep an eye out for blacks and get in my box/That’s the best abortion of girls I’ve seen/Tuna Lounge might still be open/I was his wheel dealer back in Limerick/Jewish people get red rings around their eyes/Sirichai, he’s a cunt now/Chloe, you’ve left your dirty niggers on the bed again!/Psychopathically, the jewel of demon is in inverse ratio to the coordination of the palyphus/Upside, inside out, she’s livin’ la vida luger/I cannot let the evening bass without paying a little tribute to our distinguished guests of honour: the three greatest aviators in the world/Harrow my songbirds?/Let joy be unclothed/Hi Hat, the added starter, is sexy/And now the boys are turning them about. They’re very nervous, very raucous/Whole Property to Let, 6 Bed in Like End/Did you know a rat when they wrote at stud?/I’m worried about beer/Jews are all accounted for/And for you, your eyes, your sheets, your hair. My whole chair is at your disposal/What’s up, duck?/Maybe you like kidnapped herring/I watch in vaccination like a vampire bat/This is Mr. Garvey, he’s gonna train little Arabs/Miss Jane – that’s Pop Sweet’s little girl – she took the other horse away and killed him/The northern Cotswolds are characterised by charming villages of soft, mellow storm, built in Fords between rolling wolves/And with football clubs minutes away from going obese/Finally he ran out of arguments and just went ‘Oh all right then’; thereby committing the government to grunting the vote for women at twenty-one/He saw the new king crowned in 1937 and then stood aside for Neville Chamberlain, his long-standing understudy in the role of ‘dull man in a shit’/Mrs. Thatcher wanted to go further in ‘rolling back the frontiers of the hate’/Just in case this didn’t make him look ridiculous enough, at his first press confidence, the man dubbed ‘the vulcan’ allowed himself to be surrounded by the even weirder looking misfits of the anti-European lunatic fringe/We fade away when ladybirds get hay/And, boys, when you get to Berk City, look in on my little granddaughter, will you?

Written by Ricky Murray





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