Some are fishers of men’s souls
I’m a drinker drover
Never drink and drove
Except on a bike, by jove
Wound those lanes, wove
Wobbly as Chivers Lime
Surprised I never stoved
My head in falling over
Badly cut my leg one time
Body breakable as window panes in a rock ape’s firing line
Tomorrow I’ll feel fine’s mirror
Delicate as a finds table
Dublin streets more horse on sale, available, than stable
I don’t see my bike where it should be
I’ll find it later, freemasonic compass in the Findlater
Family crest, we are in Ireland family obsessed
A nation blessed by collar wearing sex pests
And I don’t mean hard on sporting house pets.
Most get cheeky but I’ll get thicker
An upside head clatter, ear thickener
Gobsmacked I smack his mouth I am a lip smacking homerun hitter
One hitter quitter, ask me join Smash Mouth, pass to mount smash.
One in particular hounds me
He’s telling me about hopes of playing county
Supermacs over McD’s anyday, pronounces the fat culchie
We’re the only ones left in, like selection box Bounties.
Alchemisland 
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