Alchemisland

Saturday in Slattery’s, salad days

Lashing per the papers in the usual draining fashion

We’re in the pub draining pumps, trading bumps

All got bags like the eyes of new mums

Tropical, rum with passion fruit pulp, yum

Taking pulls off bullhorn blunts

So many sups, would have thought the cup was glued to my hand

So many lovers I’m doubling up, thought her cunt was new to my hand

But that gee sans briefs was as familiar to me as a sea is to its sand

Intense and hard but brief one night stand

Get gargled and give her three of the best, my brief, can barely stand

She’s wetter than the Dargle in the pants, telling me go farther.