Here you will find my musings, most are quite dark and appeal to a select few, if you fall under that category I hope you enjoy what you read, thoughts are welcome
Pink xx

Friday, 12 July 2013

Ripe Tripe

This poem is to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Pumping, trumping, oh the stink,
how I wish my nose would shrink.
My those beans were really ripe,
now my farts do smell like tripe.
Fingers crossed I make the loo,
or I may just follow through!
Written Oct 25, 2007

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