My boots were covered in shite from that do
in the woods, the bullocks approached me
near the fence, slobbered on my trouser-legs.
Such beautiful eyes, like hers, I thought.
As I came up the footpath a group of kids
threw rocks at me, one girl was laughing so much
I thought she'd choke on her ice-pop.
It's not her fault, I blame the television,
sets a bad example. Class talent though,
could have fucked her brains out.When I touched her cheek, the smell of soap
came off on my skin, she was pretty all right,
couldn't keep my hands off her, sexiest mouth
I'd ever seen. Spunk written all over her face.
Just a bit mad, that was her problem. I shave the stubble off with a care
I never used to have, scrutinise each move
in the mirror now. They say she cut her lips off
with a razorblade, don't believe a word,
it's just not possible. Gets to me though.
I check the clock, plenty of time, and anyway
shouldn't seem too keen on a first date. I take off my clothes and sit on the sofa
before the mirror, like to look at myself,
nice piece of tackle. I make a tourniquet
with my tie, pull it tight around the base,
grow a cucumber, beautiful, smooth as a cosh.
A girl's best friend. I get myself ready,
brush my teeth, dress, open the A to Z,
find her street: not far, 35 mins, max.
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