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Kate Rancid



In the building where I work
We have a staff canteen
And lurking in the corner
Is a big vending machine
It's plastic round the edges
With clear perspex at the front
And all who've known its unique charms
Refer to it as Cunt'.
Cunt is such an arsehole
Its behaviour is appalling
If you try to buy a bag of crisps
Just don't count on them falling
Everything gets stuck up there
From Monster Munch to Snickers
It's cuntier than the real cunt
That lives inside my knickers
I went to visit Cunt just now
With a pile of shiny money
I hadn't eaten breakfast
And my stomach felt all funny
Without the time to pop to Greggs
For bacon sandwich and a coffee
I thought I'd get a Snickers
Get my gob round nuts and toffee
Cunt was rather empty
Having not been filled for days
But one solitary Snickers
Did meet my hungry gaze
I put my money in the slot
Pressed number 72
And waited for my Snickers bar
To fall, and slide on through
But Cunt was having none of it
The Snickers moved a bit
But then it just stopped moving
And was stuck there. Bloody shit
I tried to kick it, bash it up
But Cunt was far too strong
All I did was bruise my arm
And shout words that are wrong
I looked around the shabby room
For blokes with lots of muscle
But a couple of old womenfolk
Was all that I could rustle
No-one could shake my Snickers free
We were too weak and feeble
It wobbled but refused to fall
Like a really cunty weeble
I was about to just give up
Although my stomach rumbled
When from the front, Cunt gave a grunt
And my Snickers finally tumbled!
I grabbed the chocolate from Cunt's flap
And stuffed it in my gob
Then in the bin the wrapper
I did nonchalantly lob
The moral of this story is ...
Oh, who gives a sh1t
I was just bored at work and did a poem
And that's it
I got my Snickers, blah blah blah
It's not even like you care
You might think this was a waste of time
But at least I've got hair.

Kate Rancid (b. 1973)