Wednesday, 17 October 2012

New Rhyme about a Creepy Old Guy.

It's fresh and hot off the .DOC! We don't have a name for it yet, so we're letting you guys come up with a title. Email across your ideas and suggestions. The chosen one will win a wee prize.


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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