Monster

Monster

About that photo in your wallet
of yer so called girlfriend. It’s easy to see
you made that up in Photoshop
from a collection of boobs, arses,
legs, and long blonde hair from a one stop
body shop porn site. She’s a sight!
If you saw her coming in real life
you’ld run a mile. I had no idea
that Dr Frankenstein had made
a bride, who then had Quasimodo’s
love child. Then again your taste
in women always was a bit strange.
Do you remember
that immensely fat fat bird? I’m sure
you do, you raved that the sex
was cluck-tastic what with her making
all them chicken noises, and pounds
and pounds of tit, so much you didn’t
know what to do with it, but I bet,
in the morning your face
was a right flash bang photograph.
Nah! wait a minute, you ‘ad it off with ‘er
quite a few more times after that;
you reckoned she were a laugh.
Then there was the bald-headed bird
who took off her wig then took out her teeth;
you had her Mondays, Wednesdays, and Sunday
lunchtimes, said there was something
about the blow jobs that you couldn’t resist.
Then there was girl with no legs. Not to mention
the one with elephantiasis. Oh! yeah, let’s not forget
the incredibly ugly fifty five year old
tranny with hairy arms and stubble
chin; you have no shame, you even had him,
because, you always said, they were all so grateful;
begging for it, yet, and this is what I don’t understand,
it’s always you that’s given the elbow.
You mug yer mates right off,
finking yer Jack the Lad,
but I don’t think you’re quite as good,
in-out speaking,
as you like to make out.
You’re just a Billy Big Bollocks
with a Blackwall Tunnel
sized mouth.