Classical | Contemporary | Humour | Shite



Kate Rancid

My Shite Day

My Shite Day

I want to write a poem as I'm feeling rather sad,
There's nothing like a poem when your life seems really bad,
And there's nothing like a poem when you're feeling slightly shit,
So I thought that I would write one and, oh yeah,
This is it.

I've had a crappy morning, it was shitty as can be,
No-one's had a morning quite as horrible as me,
From the moment I awoke my day was sloppy, brown and wet,
It hasn't got much better yet.

I woke up late and knackered, and my hair looked really shite,
My trousers had been sat on by a hippo in the night,
My tights disintegrated as I slid them from their box,
And my skin looked like I'd caught a dose of pox.

I couldn't find my toothbrush, then I couldn't find my shoes,
Then I couldn't find my handbag though I had no time to lose,
When I finally left the house my bus was halfway up the hill,
I wished that there was someone I could kill.

I set off up the hill and then my shoes begun to rub,
So I walked into a lamp-post as I passed the Royally pub,
And a lorry hit a puddle and it splattered me with mud,
And I lost my footing; landed with a thud.

My clothes were wet and ragged and my things were strewn around,
I tried to heave my mighty bulk aloft, up off the ground,
But as I did my knickers went, the bloody cheap elastic,
I looked like a total fucking spastic.

A little teardrop trickled down and landed on the ground,
And as it did a gang of youths appeared and stood around,
They stole my mobile phone, my cash, my cards and all my rings,
And then they ran away, the horrid things.

I clambered to my feet and once again was on my way,
Another bus was coming, an improvement to my day?
I stuck my arm out hopefully, the driver gave a nod,
Then he drove right fucking past me, the sod.

I got to work at half past 9,
I was 60 minutes late,
The boss was looking rather grim,
He said "Sit down please, Kate..."
I thought "He's going to sack me!
I've seen that look before!"
He motioned to a comfy chair
And closed his office door.

He said "I have bad news dear,"
I said "I know, I know,
I got here late for work again,
You'll have to let me go,"
He said "Well, yes, that's true -
I am giving you the sack,
But that's not why I wanted you -
You're on quite the wrong track."

I asked him "Well what else then?"
He said "I've had a call,
From the fire brigade, the ambulance,
the policemen... from them all,
Your house, my dear, has burned down,
Your friends and family too,
Now collect your P45, go on. Get out me office. Shoo."

I wandered sadly through the streets,
Not knowing where to go,
My home was gone, my job, my friends...
I felt my sorrow grow,
A builder shouted "Cheer up love...
At least you've got your health!"
I thought about it...
Yes! He's right!
That's worth so much more than wealth.

A smile spread across my face,
I guess I've got a lot!
I haven't got the plague or some
Foul tumour on my bott,
I shouldn't feel morose just 'cause my day is rather poor,
At least I don't have a septic boyle that feels a little sore.

And pretty soon I felt just fine,
I stepped into the road,
Oblivious to the oncoming truck,
Into its path I strode,
And now I'm in a hospital bed,
They say there's not much hope,
I feel so shit, I wonder how I'll cope.

But at least I have my poetry!
At least I have my verse!
At least I couldn't feel any fucking bastard worse,
If I didn't have my poems then I don't think I could

Hey nurse...

What's that labotomy you're about to give?




Kate Rancid (b. 1973)