The unspeakable pursue the uneatable,
in his world, obsessed with tit and bum.

He, in his Scottish bunker hides,
whilst babies starve, without a crumb,

good Scottish folk his kind despise,
“not fit to burn”, they’ve called that bum.

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Impressive signs she has a design

Her eyes are like a spring divine

Love sprouting as her eyes wink

Her lips are a seductive drink

Enticing my mind with an infatuating line

Come winters and every thing looks shut

Yet she lets the world know that she has a bubble butt.

Passion fruits dangling from her chest

This is what she is at her best

When she leaves open the but...

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