Flabby Baglady Babe
Still got a kiss goodnite for your cellulite
– nite,X.
Don’t let stick insect zeitgeist blight.
I’ll wash your hair in Lenor,
I’ll wash your floor in Timotei.
O flabby baglady babe,
no Bev’ly Hills blart gallery d’yer jewel,
ma jolie laide.
All the models look like Olive Oyl
on the walls at Primarks ‘n’ Sparks,
but Jesus loves Big Bertha best
because of her whole hog heart!
And Jesu loves the ladies
who are hairy and unwashed
- if Flo Nightingale’s fake tan bronzed
dem bandages, wou’nt be the bangup
patchin’ up job we've come to love.
Pulchritudinous to Jesus be bigboned
skeezers in chaste way like Gok Wan,
but Samaritans shorin’ up another’s selflovin’
be scuzzball and his stout slattern,
both a-thinkin’ they’re a-sympathyshaggin’.
Better days she seen elicit my pity
like an unregenerated Northern city
- rose that grows on a roundabout’s
as rough ‘n’ ready ‘n’ pretty.
I’ll wash your feet in Greek yogurt,
I’ll wash my hands of metrosexual fleshpots.
My flabby baglady babe’s got
more wanton crumbled misbeauty
than skiz-ankz blankets disarrayed.
Stocky blokes ain’t zonked out doinking
slips like Kiera Knightley:
chiquitas gotta be chipeaters, choose nine
boxes of Malteasers nightly, nine-
teen Bacardi Breezers t’appetise me!
Vulgar Venus, porky pikey,
adiposal Asbodite
- hoboette harlot heart’s a hostel,
in your rags ‘n’ ripples hide me
for duvet decades, till we’re smilin’
slob fossils.
Once-upon- a-pentapeptide old wifies
and personal trainers can bite me,
Hello and Heat mag say we’re hippos,
but it’s our noble souls Jesus ogles.
And I wou'nt touch Susan Boyle with a
bargepoyle,
but it's her noble soul Jesus ogles!
Wou'nt touch Subo with yours, Lord,
but it's her noble soul Jesus ogles.