Grow Up

Grow Up

Chatting to a chick about his knob
How it had a pet name: Bob
How Bob was always up for bob-a-job
Anything really that could make him throb
Would double as a gun if I was out to rob
The girl’s demeanour pointed one way: slob
You stand there thinking you’re playing a heart-throb?
When really you’re a passed-it old age sod
I should really scream & holler; raise a mob
But I think you’re so pathetic I could almost sob
Now are you buying that Penthouse – in your money ten-bob
Here’s your change, get out my sight you sad old sod
Through rain on window he revealed as stooped, fading blob
Back at garret nothing in but a tin of corn on cob
Girls’ remarks embarrassed him; must control his gob.