Grunge beauty
Oh my, what a mess, Brown doc boots, flowery dress, Pretty face, shame about that thing, Great big studs and a hooped nose ring, Love the colour of your hair my dear, Looks like purple and red or puce from here, That lad you’re with, he has no home? Oh, I know his dad, he owns half of Rome. Lovely tattoo you are sporting there, Shame you’ll never, a sundress wear, That guru thing that runs down your arm, Is it meant to be some sort of lucky charm? And the feathers hanging from you ear, Are Indian whisper chimes or so I hear, Gorgeous jacket you have on there, Smells like something a camel used to wear. That black bootlace that wraps around your wrist, Must be the one that granddad has missed, Burn Incense dear? No I don’t think so, But here let me try, I’ll give it a go. Pooh, that’s whiffy, smells worse than the dog, That brown grass you’re smoking? Fag like a log, Chill out you say, no need to get heavy, Well bugger you lot I’m off for a bevvie. Barb, February, 2002-02-162002-02-16, Written April 12th, 2002 © on Apr 12 2002 07:23 AM PST 0 • 14
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"Oh my, what a mess, ..."