The flow (song of the middle aged London rake)

Songs of the Everyday

The beer flows.
The jokes fly mean.
We’re the cats, and we’re the cream
Come here pussies, lick us clean
Come live the life, come live the dream.

The suits are slick, the jokes are sicker
My cash is fat, my plastic’s thicker.
There ain’t no bashfulness in bling,
We just do white, we don’t do brown
We’re crazy fools all over town
We act the fool but we’re no clowns –
And know you, Sir, who wears the crown?

The champagne flows
The bar tab grows
The girls are pretty
And they sure know –
Short skirts, tight jeans,
Lithe and lean,
Come here lil’ sugar, I won’t play mean!
You won’t play me, I won’t play mean,
Come won’t you play, I know you’re keen.

Hey, ho! And a nonny-no!
We’ve splashed, you’re lashed,
You wanna go?
Hey, I made bonus
Here, take my money
Have my blow
Don’t give me bull, just swing me low.

Now check this hunny,
All tidy and tight,
All giggles and riddles and sweet delight!
Forget the kids! Forget the wife!
Drown their screams, for this one night,
In this hunny, all sugar and cream,
In her tidy little dream.

It catches him in the bathroom and smacks the back of his head with a sledge hammer. He retches and the guilt mixed with the blood and the juices of his gut spill out and block the plug hole.
His eyes stream.
What a dream.

– 0 –

A song of the concrete jungle. Kipling had his beasts, I have mine.


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