Parental Guidance

Parental Guidance

A man who loves his children
Can forgive them many things
Put up with every foible
And the trouble that it brings
But yet the most devoted,
Caring, loving, dad must shun
His offspring now, forever
If the buggers read The Sun.

Don’t read The Sun, don’t read The Sun
A red-topped sheet of bile
Rip it up and burn it
Sweep the ashes in a pile
Hold your children closely
Give them love and family fun
But sever all connections
If they go and read The Sun

They can vomit in the motor
Leave a poo upon the floor
Put lego down the toilet
Dirty handprints on the door
They can steal the chocolate hob nobs
Bring home vagabonds to shag
But they’re gone, and gone forever
If they ever read that rag.

Don’t read The Sun, don’t read The Sun
Vindictive, twisted shits
Scumbags with a keyboard
Rip integrity to bits
Raise a man to Hero
Rip him down, besmirch his name
Then pay him to abase himself
Say sorry, cry in shame.

Each man must tell his children
When the playful day is done
You can rob me, wreck me, hurt me
But don’t ever read The Sun!

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Friday Verse

Two poems today. One written on the way into work, and the other on the way home. They’re both graduates of the Pick A Random First Line And See Where It Goes School Of Rhyme, but beyond that I don’t think they’re connected. I could be wrong though, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Lactose Intolerance

My brother stole my milk float
He didn’t get too far
He didn’t know my milk float
Was much slower than my car
.
I caught him and I groomed him
Gave his beard and hair a trim
Then I drowned him in a bath tub
That I’d filled with semi skimmed
.
I dried him off and wrapped him
In a bolt of purest silk
Then offered him to Dairy
(Holy Mother Of The Milk)
.
She took him and she beat him
Into full fat double cream
Then she beckoned, and caressed me
And I couldn’t even scream.


“Why’s The Swan Upside Down, Daddy?”

The swan is upside down today
Just bobbing on the swell
His legs look very rigid
I don’t think he’s very well
.
I guess he could be sleeping
With his head down on the bed
But no. That’s wishful thinking:
Mr Swan is very dead.
.
So now I’m in a quandary –
Do I tell the truth or lie?
Say that Swan is sleeping
Or explain that all things die?
.
I brace myself and tell the truth
And now I’m rather pleased:
The death talk’s done, it’s up to Mum
To do the birds and bees.