Classical | Contemporary | Humour | Shite



Kate Rancid



The cold grey shipping forecast,
That boomed around the shop,
Had heeded to instructions,
When confronted by the mop.

Running through the autumn
The cargo gently swayed
And continued eating cakes
That the Lub-Lub had just laid.

The stairs were bent and loveless
No gander wath the hoot,
A lonely ship befriended
By the hard heel of a boot.

"John O'Groats, be with you!
Now toss me to the shore,"
The Mandarin sang, he knew so well,
As he bounced along the floor.

Beacons they extinguished,
God pulled up a chair,
The smell of ulcers called amidst
The sweetness of her hair.

And so to end the fable,
The night shook stormy red,
And the lion shrugged his shoulders,
And the Lub-Lub shook his head,
And they both went off to bed.

Kate Rancid (b. 1973)