Ode to Blackpool

Turd by the Sea

There is nothing like the coast they say,
A jolly jaunt, a rip roaring day.
But I don’t like to be by the seaside.
Being terrorised by a hundred year old ride.

I am scared of mistreated donkeys
And the dirty beach.
Where soiled sheets and used condoms are under my feet.

My stomach does not skip at the odour of kebab.
The smelly retch of doner is a like an open scab.
Square sausages, waffles, candy floss and doughnuts
Are eaten by fat vat loads all in burger buns.

Happy erotic Geordies always run naked into the sea.
Their friends steal their panties and their stag night dignity.

The jungle of the promenade afloat with glass, bruised faces and first aid.
I watched the warrior dressed as an oompaahh loompaahhh hit a fairy godmother over and over again.

A boy dressed as superman tries to drag the oompaahh away because he’s the groom and getting married the next day.

So I aim to eat my chips and try not to leer,
At the blow jobbing couple under the pier.
Her head bobbing it moves up a gear,
As he misses the wrong hole and goes up her rear. OOOPPPSSS!

So much fun of the fair, the grubby tightness of the sea air.
The seaside and sordid sex make a fine pair.
Take a day out at the Las Vegas of Lancashire,
See if it leaves you without a care.