Caught In A Trap

I'm sweating, but I'm freezing
And the walls are closing in
I feel just like I'm trapped
Inside a big, white wheely bin

I hear a tap slow-dripping
A ceiling fan buzzing up above
Will I ever escape this place?
Please say I will, my love!

The lights above are blinding
I'm in deep, way over my head
I need to find a way out now
Or by morning, I'll be dead

I'm stuck here in the can at work
How will it end, this caper?
It's not my time that has run out
It's the fucking toilet paper

Love Spuds For Sale

I rarely cry at movies
Shed a tear? Not much at all
But I can hand-on-heart admit
'The English Patient' made me bawl

That bit where he goes back to
The cave to see the lady
I didn't really "shed a tear"
I was bawling like a baby

I knew I was in trouble
When my bottom lip went limp
Then I opened up the floodgates
And cried and cried just like a wimp

But I guess that's not so bad
Breaking barriers, knocking down walls
I'm so in touch with my feminine side
That I may as well sell my balls

Arse-Bucks

I walk past Starbucks every day
It's on my walk-to-work route
It's full of self-important twats
And arseholes in expensive suits

The uniform-clad baristas
Invite you in with a cheeky wink
Then bill you half the national debt
Just to get a fucking hot drink

But that doesn't stop these morons
They're in and out of there non-stop
It's like they're trying to find out
How many dickheads will fit in a shop

Take your shop and piss off, Starbucks
So your idiot-sanctury I won't pass
Stick your piss-poor lukewarm beverages
Up your over-priced fat arse

Neighbours = Morons

If the people underneath me
Slam their fucking doors again
I'll take a cricket bat downstairs
And cause those twats some pain

Seriously, who walks around
Slamming every door they pass?
If they did it with revolving doors
They'd at least kick their own arse

Stop slamming doors, you wankers!
What's the door done to earn that?
The poor door's already suffering
Being in a house full of twats

Who the hell strolls round all day
Slinging doors shut violently?
These pricks should go to college
And study 'Closing Doors Silently'

Smells Like Teen Shiznit

I live next door to wankers
They piss me off so much
When they open their bedroom door
It smells like Gandhi's crotch

The stench is representive
Of Jimmy Kimmel's pits
The odour's reminiscent of
A cat with real bad shits

It pongs like old dead bodies
Like month-old taco dip
It whiffs like Jonas Brothers have
Just tried to play music

Still, I'm next door to wankers
Their room's a bloody farce
I don't know how they live there when
Their place smells like my arse

Guest Poet: Nate Marsh

In the absence of any new material from yours truly, my comrade-in-lyrics Nate Marsh has come up trumps with a song about a mutual canine friend of ours who goes by the name of Jakey B. Mather. It's in the vein of a T-Pain song, and I'm sure you'll agree that it is nothing short of bloody AMAZING...


'Squeak Squeak Bitches'

Liking my sack on a Friday night
Ready to go out & I'm feeling alright

Gotta present the my best for the bitches in my area
Don't wanna look like a punkass Scottish Terrier

Roll up to Costellos - that's where I go to unwind
Young Pekineses catches my eye, damn she's fine!

Refrain:
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
He's the top dog
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
How many bitches he gonna snog?

Feeling pretty hungry, is it dinner time?
Check my doggie rolex, damn it's quarter past nine!

Order a plate of the chef finest dish
Better be Lamb & Rice, Science Diet is the shizz

Toilet or Bottled Water the waitress asks me?"
Give me H2O from where the go human's pee!"

Refrain:
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
He's the top dog
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
How many bitches he gonna snog?

I'm a little fellow and but I gotta big heart
And if I paw-slap you, it's gonna smart!

Ok, get this pup a bowl of Bacardi
- now you how Jakey like to party!

The hot Pekinese is now ready to get busy
But I got some bad news, might put her in a tizzy

I tell this fine bitch about my time in the pound
& that seriously limits how much I get around...

I told her straight up that, damn, I got neutered
She left me with the bill, looking for other suitors...

Refrain:
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
He ain't got no nutz
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
All he can do is sniff butts!

Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
He ain't got no nutz
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
All he can do is sniff butts!

It's Quiet Here At Work

It's bloody quiet here at work
Is speaking not allowed?
The room is totally silent
Pins dropping would be loud

There's no radio or tape-deck
To play some music on
Right now I'd even listen to
Something by Elton John

Nobody's talking here at work
I hope someone will start
I'm wishing someone speaks loud so
I can squeeze out this fart

Fire-Damaged Underpants

I let a massive ripper go
It nearly blew off my pants
It sounded like I just said "Tea?"
And my boss replied "No, thanks"

I just cranked out a wicked gust
It smelled a bit of cabbage
It tore straight through my underpants
And now they're fire-damaged

My manager said "What the hell?"
He's a sensitive wee bloke
I had to say "It wasn't me
But it was my ass that spoke"

I just ripped my under-crackers
With a noise that was quite rude
But I'm proud to have delivered
A fart of such magnitude

Beaten Cents-less

I looked inside
My bank account
And saw just what was missing

I'm broke, I'm skint
I haven't got
A pot to freakin' piss in

I don't have pounds
Or even pence
I couldn't have any less

I'm strapped for cash
I've zero quid
I'm bloody well penniless

If money were
Good looks and charm
I'd be The Elephant Man

The only beans
My poor ass has
Are the baked ones in a can

I've been beaten
Freakin' cents-less
NatWest Bank would see me drown

If I cannot
Get cash fairly
I'll go sell my ass downtown

Look At Me, I'm Killing Trees!

Look at me, I'm killing trees!
I'm killing them by the truckload!
How many have I killed so far?
Not sure, but it's a fuck-load!

If I had to calculate
If I had to do my research
I reckon I've done several oaks
And maybe a big, old birch

Pearl Jam's on the radio
But I can't hear Eddie Vedder
His voice is being drowned out
By my printer (see 'tree-shredder')

I'm killing trees, I'm killing trees!
I'm Drew, the tree-killing geezer!
Perhaps if I kill several more
They'll finally give me a visa

Socks & Pants From Primark: The Movie!

Jobs Are Like Buses

I've sat on my arse for three weeks now
Wondering what I'm doing wrong
I couldn't get a job for love nor money
Then three of the things come along!

Sat here near a month, sans employment
For any old job, did I seek
No-one had work for me whatsoever
Then three fricken' jobs in a week!

Agencies, classifieds and Gumtree
They all said their pockets were bare
I watched every episode of 'Family Guy'
Then three jobs? Man, what happened there?

How did I get three job offers?
Well, I said from my bum shines the sun
I told them I'm great, now I have 3 jobs
If I told them the truth, I'd have none

You'd Like A Wine?

I'd like a wine
A wine that's fine
A wine that smells of pine

A wine that's mine
That gives a sign
That wine smells of wood-bine

I'd like a wine
That's from the Rhine
A wine right off the vine

Nine out of nine
Yeah, that's my wine
A wine that's fine to dine (upon)

(Two Seconds Later)

You pompous git!
You don't like beer?
Why don't you sod off out of here?

You don't like beer?
You just like wine?
Well, piss off out this pub of mine...

I Am The Batman

I am the Batman
I wear a cape
My utility belt's
Made of yellow tape

I am the Batman
I have big balls
I wear a helmet
And black overalls

I am the Batman
Who wants a slap?
I'm the hardest in Gotham
Because Robin is crap

I am the Batman
I'm fed up of this
Some two-bit shit poet
Just taking the piss

My Perfect Job

My perfect job just doesn't exist
Well, not as far as I know
It's a 'Part-Time Beverage Analyst'
Working out of Spearmint Rhino

Or perhaps an 'In-Game Analyst' for
Tottenham Hotspur Football Club
My analysis improves when I'm pissed
Working from the nearest pub

The thought of picking my own job
Really doesn't take much thinking;
I'd chill at home in dirty pants
Playing 'GTA' and drinking.

Who The Hell Drinks Bitter?

Who the hell drinks bitter?
It's of no bloody use
It tastes of fetid running socks
Soaked in some compost juice

Bitter's bloody horrible
The taste is beyond words
It's like an old tramp's underpants
Complete with dried-up turds

It doesn't even smell nice!
The whiff is bloody evil
The pong's like balls that avoided baths
Since times were medieval

So, who the hell drinks bitter
Because they keep it in the pubs
I'd rather live in the jungle
And feed upon witchetty grubs

Naked xBox

It's nearly time, it's nearly time
It's really, nearly time
That special time is nearly here
Now that it's five-to-nine

(Five minutes later...)

It's time for naked xBox!
Bet your ass it's pretty rude!
Playing 'Lego Batman' in the buff
Playing xBox in the nude!

I'm playing naked xBox!
Shall I play 'Crash Bandicoot'?
I think I'll just play 'Bioshock'
Whilst in my birthday suit

Woo hoo! It's naked xBox!
I'm feeling pretty ill
Whilst playing naked 'GTA'
I think I caught a chill...

Socks & Pants From Primark

I just went to Primark where
I bought new socks and pants
It only cost me twenty quid
So I said; "Lovely, thanks!"

I had to stand in a massive queue
Which was a bit of a joke
Luckily, it went down quickly
Because I'm not a patient bloke

I'm so happy with my socks
And with my pants...so cheap!
If money was no object
I'd buy new ones every week!

So, thanks a shedload Primark
Here's a metaphorical hug
For keeping my feet cosy
And my frank & beans quite snug

The Tail Of Jakey Chugman

"Look at her, she's pretty cute
I bet she wants my noodle..."
Thought Jakey Chugman to himself
As he perved at next-door's poodle

"Mamasita!" Jakey played it cool
As he called over the fence
"What you think I lack in size,
I'll make it up in length!"

That poodle's name was Roxy
Man, that bitch knew she was fine
"You'll find me at Costello's but
I'll be gone by half-past-nine"

For hours, until nine-twenty-nine
Roxy waited by the bar
When she heard the coolest Chug in town
"Get me a fricken' PBR"

Jake made short work of Roxy
He took the poodle home and spanked it
The bastard shagged her back at Eli's
On my New York Giants blanket

History was made that night
Or so this poet reckoned
And so concludes the tale of
Jake the poodle-fucking legend

I'm Drunk

Fuck me, I'm drunk
I'm really drunk
I'm really bloody drunk

I'm swearing lots
That's how I tell
That I'm drunk as a skunk

Oh shit, I'm drunk
I'm really drunk
That last beer wasn't smart

It's nothing to do
With the previous twelve
That I'm pissed as a fart

I drank the beer
Equivalent of
The eastern bloody seaboard

How drunk am I?
I'm drunk as hell
Typing on two blurry keyboards

She Won't Go Near The Pirate

My mate's a bloody liar
Saying his wife gave him a 'Blumpkin'
He says it was at Halloween
And so it smelled of pumpkin

My mate's a bloody liar
Saying they did the 'Angry Pirate'
He says his pubes have all grown back
A subtle shade of violet

My mate's a bloody liar
Saying "did the Dirty Sanchez last week"
If he's really done most of those things
His house must fucking reek

I wonder if my girlfriend would
Give me a little somethin'
She won't go near the 'Pirate'
But she might be up for 'Blumpkin'

That Movie 'Gamer' Looks Alright

I guess I really have to say
That 'Gamer' looks alright
I watched the trailer yesterday
And it doesn't look too shite

It's written by the same guys
Who wrote/directed 'Crank'
Which wasn't really all that bad
(Though the second one was wank)

Gerard Butler's in it
(That's the big dude from '300')
The ginger bloke from 'Dexter'
Is the baddie, if you'd wondered

So I think I'll go see 'Gamer'
I reckon it'll be alright
You watch, I've probably jinxed it
And it'll turn out to be shite

Piss Off, Mosquito

Piss off, mosquito
Why are you here?
I'm chilled on the front porch
Just having a beer

In you come a-flying
In your shit, wispy way
How do you not get it
When we shoo you away?

You bite me, then leave me
With lots of red marks
On my head, arms and legs
(And even my private parts!)

This is your final warning
You've had your last pass
So piss off, mosquito
Or I'll flatten your ass

Miserable Git

I'm feeling pretty sad today
My outlook's pretty grim
I feel like I'm on downers
Knocked back with a pint of gin

I'm feeling pretty low today
Not fun-loving or silly
I'd describe myself as feeling
Flatter than a kipper's willy

I'm feeling pretty crap today
Life's honeymoon is over
If you see me on the street
Mount the kerb and run me over

Chicken Soup For My Bowl

Is chicken soup a metaphor
In 'Chicken Soup For The Soul'?
I'm not sure that I give a toss
I've got chicken soup for my bowl

I'm eating it this morning
Though I made it yesterday
It's been in the fridge overnight
It tastes better next day anyway

I added in some chili sauce
Then threw some pasta in the pot
Then a little bit more chili sauce
Man, this soup's going to be hot!

Home-made soup is where it's at
Canned soup is one big con
My mouth is starting to burn now
My arse is going to hurt later on

The Important Question

I sit here writing poems with
One thought inside my mind
Is it too early for drinking beer
And, if I do, might I go blind?

You see, whenever I have had a beer
Everything just goes to plan
Things always go much better
When a beer is in my hand

Yes, things seem to go much smoother
When I'm boozed up on the grog
Like the time I walked the lawn
Then came home to mow the dog

The Dog's Bollocks

Apologies, I lied last poem
The dog doesn't have any balls
Not even little furry ones
I'm afraid he has no balls at all

That doesn't make him less manly
He's a fierce, brutish pup
If you give him any nonsense
He will mess yo' lame ass up

He does have 'balls' in another sense
Great big metaphorical ones
They're as big as planets
Or a pair of flaming suns

My Next-Door Neighbour Is Drilling

My next-door neighbour's drilling
He's been doing it all day
Fuck knows what he's building
It sounds pretty big, either way

He started up at 9am
And he hasn't ceased at all
It shook the poor dog off the bed
And sent a tremor through his balls

It's a bastion of manliness
Drilling makes you king of the castle
But If he doesn't stop it soon
I'll have to drill him a new arsehole

Boston Pee Party

We're going on a pub crawl
Just me and my friend Mike
We'll hit the bars and show Boston
Just what English drinkers are like

We'll drink to good old England
And drink to our good health
By lunch I'll be so shit-faced
That I'll probably wet myself

I'll fall asleep and miss my stop
Take a two-hour stagger home
Then wake up tomorrow morning
Sleeping with a traffic cone

M.M.R Jab

I'm going for a jab today
Some nurse is going to jab me
She'll take a massive needle out
And then she'll bloody stab me

I've got a needle phobia
With medicals, it's a stickler
Once she gets the injection out
I'll probably shit my knickers

I'll write the next verse of this poem
Once I've had the vaccination.
I doubt a lot that it will be
An example of my elation...

------------------------------------

Well, I've gone and had my jab now
In the bright white doctor's room
If there's one thing I can confirm
It's that I won't be back there soon

There's No Way To Avoid It

I smell real bad of B.O.
In Cockney; I 'pen & ink'
There's no way to avoid it;
I really fucking stink

Since I stopped going to work
I haven't bathed that much
My scent is reminiscent of
An ageing baboon's crotch

I smell just like a cat tray
Or a public toilet sink
There's no way to avoid it;
Holy shit, I stink

Mobile Phone Porn

I understand the point in most of
Modern-day inventions
I might not know just how they work
But I do get their intentions

One thing I'll never understand
From now till I rest my bones;
What the bloody hell's the point
In porn for mobile phones?

What's the point in an iPhone with
An excerpt from 'Tale Of Two Titties'?
It's not like you can have a strum
On the 6:06 from Exeter City

Is it just me that doesn't see
Trainloads of monkey-spankers?
I guess at least it goes to explain
Why British Rail are wankers

Custom Poetry

Someone asked me just today:
"Do you write custom rhymes?"
Well my dear, if it's for beer
I'd write them all the time

I'd write all day for cider
And I'd do the same for bitter
I'd write them whilst I'm drinking
(Though the quality would get shitter)

I'd write all day for whiskey
And I'd write for any wines
If you hadn't guessed, the answer's "yes"
I do write custom rhymes!

Rubbish Passport Picture

My passport picture sucks
It makes me look like such a prat.
What is it about passport pictures
That make you look a massive twat?

My one makes me look like
I'm a homeless guy with piles.
I've got this painful grin that says
I've got the 'Nobby Stiles'...

The photographer always puts you
Into some weird style of stasis.
So it looks like I have a bum
Where usually my face is.

Oh, rubbish passport photo
Why can't you look so nice?
Instead of making my face
Look like the boobs of Katie Price.

TwatWest

I really hate going to the bank
Because NatWest are my bankers
Nothing's ever easy there
They're a tedious bunch of wankers

There's always a bloody reason
Why they can't do what you ask
"Sorry sir, we need paperwork..."
Bloody paperwork, my arse.

However, today was different
They were courteous and well-spoken
In future, I'll do all my banking
With my trouser fly wide open

Our Postman Is A Wanker

When I leave for work each morning
Every single day starts bad
I'm confronted with our postman
Man, he really makes me mad

You see, our Postman is a wanker
He's a self-indulgent git
The prick's the smuggest man on Earth
He really thinks he's it

He walks around, all smug-faced
Like he's just won piles of money
He's always making wise-cracks and
He thinks he's really funny

One day I'll surprise him
I'll jump out on him without warning
Then I'll slap him on the knackers
He won't expect THAT in the morning

Whoever Invented 'Work'

Whoever thought of 'work'
Is a massive bloody fool
Instead of doing 'work'
We could be lounging by the pool

And whoever thought of 'work'
Needs to get a fricken' life
Whoever created 'work'
Probably has an ugly wife

Man, whoever thought of 'work'
Really ruined it for us all
One day I'll go and find him
And I'll punch him in the balls

Living With Stephen King

Imagine living with Stephen King
It'd be so fucking scary
Man, if you lived with Stephen King
You'd be a massive fairy!

Imagine living with Stephen King
You'd worry about ghosts all night
I bet if you lived with Stephen King
You'd piss yourself with fright

Imagine living with Stephen King
I bet he'd have bad breath
Dude, if you lived with Stephen King
He'd scare your ass to death

The Bloke Behind Me's Music Is Toss

The bloke behind me plays some toss
His music's utter shite
He says he's playing "bangin' choons"
But they're not even 'alright'

One minute he's got some 'jungle' on
Then some pap called 'trance'
The only place you should hear this shit
Is somewhere crap, like France

But then he'll put some 'ambient' on
It's weird and utter pish
It just sounds like the soundtrack to
A crap film about jellyfish

It's not music, it's a bag of piss
It's a bloody massive farce
His entire iTunes library belongs
Up his bloody massive arse

Crap Breakfast

There's a guy I know who eats
His daily breakfast on the toilet
Isn't that disgusting?
Having breakfast in the loo?
He takes his bacon buttie
And the Daily Whatever-You-Call-It
And sits there on the lavatory;
Eating, reading and having a poo.

Now I know this throws up questions
Of a quite diverse variety
Like "What about the awful smell?"
And "Where do the crumbs drop?"
But I just think it's sad
That we now live in a society
In which it's perfectly normal
To eat breakfast "on the plop"

Shit Haircut

I went to the barbers on Monday
On Goodge Street by Pizza Hut
I went in, sat down and daydreamed
Now I've got a shit haircut

It only cost me seven quid
But it's seven quid too much
The fact is I've paid seven quid
For hair like a badger's crotch

I said that I wouldn't whinge
And so, after this, I won't
But instead of a hair-do
I've got shit hair-don't

I Sit Next To A Dickhead

I sit next to a dickhead
When he speaks it's just confusing
The arsehole laughs at everything
Even stuff that's not amusing

It's like some weird disorder
He says 'Ha!' most of the day
Even if you tell him that
His cat just passed away

He mumbles, snorts and laughs and
Just repeats this all day long.
He's an alabaster retard
At best, a total fucking mong

One day I'll bring in Mr. T
Who'll say "hey fool!" and then,
He'll throw him off the balcony
See if the prick laughs then

Nosey Bastard

Hi, nosey bastard watching
As I type this poem out.
Carry on watching, ass-breath
And I'll give you such a clout

I'm leaving in a week now
And I'm running low on work
So I write this to amuse myself
Not you, you gormless berk.

Are you really that bored that
You've got to watch me type?
If I didn't need a reference
I'd give you such a massive swipe

So "sod off" nosey bastard
Leave my bloody screen alone
If you really have nowt else to do
Write some poems of your own

Batman vs. Darth Vader

Batman's fucking awesome
He wears black and he's a ninja
Darth Vader, he wears black as well
But he may as well be ginger

He's crap and he's a robot
He thinks Jedi's are fantastic
If Batman had ten minutes
He'd beat the crap out of that spastic

If A Song Was A Curry

Snow only had the one song
The rap odyssey 'Informer'
If that song was a curry
It would be a chicken korma

When not on drugs, Whitney sang;
'I Will Always Love You'
If that song was a curry
It would be a vindaloo

I once heard 'Pinball Wizard'
Sung by Joe 'The Fury' Noori
If that song was a curry
It would be a beef tandoori

E.F.I. Cry-day

If I hear Enrique Iglesias
Singing through my wall again
I'll give the twat an enema
With the tower housing Big Ben

If Enrique fucking Iglesias says
He can "be your hero, baby"
Throw the bastard in a pit
And release the dogs with rabies

Moany Bitch

I can tolerate a lot of things
But one thing I cannot stand
Is the moany bitch I work with
Jeez, she really makes me mad

Her voice; a verbal cheese-grater
Whinging as I drink my coffee
Her face is an exact match
For a half-chewed hairy toffee

Her constant whiney moaning
Sometimes makes me want to weep
Her constant, boring monotone
Induces narcoleptic sleep

My Friends

Two of my friends are Chelsea fans
But they really aren't all bad
One of them comes from Bolton
And the other's from Baghdad

They got married in Slovenia
Where the fish of Lake Bled swim
When Jonathan Ross gets a haircut
Does he say "I'm going for a twim"?

Guess Who?

He's big, he's bad, he's manly
He's the bravest of them all
He really is the greatest
If we're talking 'bout football

He drinks petrol for breakfast
He's the toughest guy in town
Don't mess with him; he's awesome
He's the mighty Michael Brown

'Cr-ouch'

I opened up the papers,
And all I said was "ouch"
Because I read the headline
Saying 'Spurs Sign Peter Crouch'

Even as a Tottenham fan
I never thought it'd come to this;
The day we build our team around
A seven-foot high streak of piss