my tiger tin

dear my dear tiger tin

in which i keep stuff 'n' things

you were £1 in poundland

you were bought on a whim


since then through thick & thin

from front rooms to festivals

i cant be without you

essential as testicles


yes without you one's lost

like grime without wiley

or countdown

sans perving at rachel riley



oh my dear tiger tin

in which i keep shit 'n' things

i fucking love you

oddly my heart sings

x

...







 

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death by nice

it's all quintessentially 

picturesque & quaint

warm brush strokes

the lord doth paint




thatched cottages for villages

lush meadows all around

a light breeze & birdsong

are oft the only sound




every reverend cycles

on the green - wicket keeping

cake sales & ginger ale

a chocolate labrador sleeping




inevitably green hills

generically idyllic

begging for mass murder

or failing that

a picnic

...







little sprinkles of evil

little sprinkles

 of evil

should be practiced

everyday

like throwing stones

into unsuspecting rivers

swapping 'round traffic cones

chuckling all the way

or getting off the bus

a stop later than you paid for

having pushingitly

rang the bell

or informing a drayman

that your real name's graham

& then gradually you'll inch

slowly

closer to hell

x

...