Darts in soap operas, oh so wrong, oh so wrong No one's scoring and there's too much chat between easch throw Worse than this though is when cheers are raised for the bull Granted, bull's a double and an out but I know that they don't Know their boards; I propose no soap darts. Is your child hyperactive or is he perhaps a twat? Sometimes I like to watch wave rage down on Fistral Beach Last Ash Wednesday I had tantric sex and it was shit Next Ash Wednesday I might strive to lick my elbow; Strive in vain, for they say few succeed. I wrote to the Horse and Hounds to gloat over whay I'd done I stored their magazine in a data retrieval system Well let's face it what're they going to do? It's not as if they know where I live And anyway I cut the caper back in 1984 Heartbroken Matrons on joyless beds For those whose souls the iron has entered And if I get to Heaven's gate I'll doubtless have to wait While St. Peter investigates the inevitable asterisk The inside of a Halex Three Star table-tennis ball Smells much like you'd expect it to.
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