Ex-pert
Why do you look at me in that tone of voice?
If I had my way I would march you round to the vestry to listen to performance poetry at spud gun point.
You have the incredible knack to make everything black, the mood not the colour.
You wouldn't say make everything white, now that would be shite.
You use the word Scientist and Freemason as if they were poison.
Got to be careful because the half trouser legged chief architect to the Pharoes want to be seen as heroes.
I don't know enough about them to pass comment but that doesn't stop you and your verbal vomit.
You've been on the acid drops, there's ashes on your tongue, you're always complaining till someone offers you a bung.
You pretend to be nice, perhaps that's your biggest vice.
You booze and schmooze, make sure you never lose.
How we got together I'll never know, you looked quite attractive in the neon glow.
But I realise now that the word you hold so dear could not be more clear to describe you.
Ex-pert in Welsh means someone who used to be pretty.
Watching Hans Blix used to make you sick.
You were convinced Saddam was packing em.
You're meant to give people the benefit of the doubt but as far as you're concerned, they've all got gout.
You flout your ignorance and prejudice as if its going out of fashion, maybe it is, others don't realise you have me on a ration (of love)
If only they knew with Valentine round the corner how much of a Saint you pretend to be.
You'll get your comeuppance, calling me a cheapskate.
here I've got threepence go and fetch the pet python something for tea.
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