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fiogf49gjkf0d Wen bye sum magick I do fynd myselff in 1985, I strowll to Convent Gardeyn where I hadd wyrked wythe ye fruite. There bee chaynges there synce 1509, I'll tell 'ee that fer siure. Especially of thee baggages who swaggyr in playn sytte down the street.
Theyr hair be straite wyth myriadd tynts, I shocked to see no stays. They stare me strayt in eye and sing a lewd song of the day. With Mao jackerts, they walke so faste. Not one plump juicey bubb in syte. I pinched one tart's fat bottom and she smashed I in the face.
I walked pastt sum dandy dance centyre and saw some pretty gyrls wythyn. I walked in wythe John Thomas outt to see if my luck be in. They laughed til sycke at my prewd old man, then promptlie turned away. I had to 'please myself' out loud to mayke them look at me.
The gyrls of Convent Garden carry portfolios instedd of pyes. Their tiny leggs proppell them on, theyr painted hard slyt eyes. A baskitt of juicy orangjes is replaced by cans of film (whatever that be!). They be all hard byttches without any tyme for a hunchyback like me.
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