Single Straight Girl in Gay Bar

Single Straight Girl in a Gay Bar

I dressed my cleavage up to the nines,
I powdered my nose within an each of its life.
Thoughts of retro disco and camp delights,
I wanted to dance like it was 1999.

There is nothing like a gay pal.
We laughed bitched and chatted penises.
He said I was his favourite gal.
There is no better fag hag on these premises.

I became lost Donna Summer and Kylie.
It did not matter that there was no Mr Right.
Because my pink friend loves me,
He never cares that my trousers are too tight.

We entered the bar like we were entering a sheep dip.
I could not stop my head spinning with cheap vodka.
The acid burning throat forgotten with the next big sip,
Campari, Crème De Menthe, Sherry and Aftershocka!

My little camp Freddie began to flirt,
With florists, builders and all sorts.
But he could not resist the tight Gucci T-shirt.
I just slammed down the shots for all I was worth.

There was screaming and Priscilla, Queen of the desert moments.
I nudged my way past the Lesbians in the toilet.
My breasts received some rather rude sentiments.
Then I realised that this was turning into a night to forget.

On return from the lav, I realised my little Freddie had pulled.
The pullee was shaven haired and a bit of a cliché.
To boot he was only four foot tall.
Suddenly I wished I was gay.

Now I knew that I was in deep trouble.
As my little chum gave me a tenner for a taxi,
He had found shag you see and I must not grumble.
I was not to stand in his way.
So a tale of a single straight girl comes to an end.
I ate a toxic meat kebab and fell into bed.
I cursed my now rutting homosexual friend.
Yet my only regret was that I am a vegetarian.