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This is no country for old men
I’m sure you will agree
When I’m at the Students' Union
At the age of thirty three.
Regardless, I soldier on
With two £1 pound vodkas in my hands,
My body a boozed up vehicle,
Driven fervidly by my glans.
They direct me towards a girl,
Buried deep inside her phone,
I pinball through the freshers
To where she stands alone.
My banter is outrageous
The most desperate of rhetoric
She looks straight on past me,
Her answers - monosyllabic.
They say God loves a trier,
We’ll he’d bloody well love me.
I even opened up the convo with
'comment vas-tu aujourd'hui?'
But I’ve exhausted all the cliches,
And my pick-up lines have fallen short,
So it’s time to roll that five pound note
Then cut some lines to snort.
Love Swines x
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