pooclub

Classical | Contemporary | Humour | Shite

Pooward Bound

I'm sitting at my desktop P.C.
Got logged on to the net dead easy. (Mmm-mm-mmm)
On a tour poetry sites, my head and heart are full of Shite,
And ev'ry page drags through the night for a poet who can scarcely write.
Pooward bound,
I wish I was,
Pooward bound,
Poo! Where my drivel's spewing,
Poo! Could be out canoeing,
Poo! Don't know what I'm doing
Writing this gobshite.

Ev'ry day's an endless stream
Of words so vulgar and obscene. (Mmm-mm-mmm)
And emails look the same to me, the prospects and the poetry,
And ev'ry time I see a pea reminds me that I long to be,
Pooward bound,
I wish I was,
Pooward bound,
Poo! Where my inbox fills up,
Poo! Where my friends won't shut up,
Poo! Where I should just give up
Writing this gobshite.

Today I'll write my poo again,
I'll play the game with virtual friends. (Mmm-mm-mmm)
But all my words come back to me preceded by that fateful "Re:"
Like a vicar who must have more tea I need someone to section me.
Pooward bound,
I wish I was,
Pooward bound,
Poo! Where my head gets done in,
Poo! Where my depths are plumbing
Poo! Where I can't help running
To write all my gobshite.

Mike Stools (b. 1962)