By Cranston Poorhouse
I can not see for tears in my eyes.
From the tears in my eyes, I cannot see
Where's the towel? Where's the towel?
The cloth that soothes, the cloth that dries.
My cheeks are sore, my face just fries
With Laughter
The towel is gone. The towel is gone
There's nothing fluffy around to help me
I stumble 'round in the blurry haze
Of Laughter
By Cranston Poorhouse
You bastard bus!
Why won't you come?
You leave me here
Feeling cold and glum
Even when you arrive
There's nowhere to sit
I end up nose to nose
to someone who smells of shit
And when I finally sit down
Time after Time
The seat's full of kid snot
Oozing with slime
And you, stupid driver
You just don't care
Spend ages at bus stops
Even though no one is there
Your timetables mean nothing
All nonsense and confusion
With all these thoughts
I've come this conclusion:
Fuck you, I'll walk
by Cranston Poorhouse
Sandwich unwrapped
Made fresh today!
So said the packet anyway.
Sandwich in hand
Ready to eat
Too much bread and not enough meat
Bad Sandwich! I say
But then think to myself
"Cranston!
You ordered cheese and ham
Not cheese and
Branston!"
The bread is all soggy
Bad Sandwich! I say
Beggars can't be choosers
So I eat it anyway
Three hours later
The rumbling starts
Bad Sandwich! I whimper
While holding my farts
Pressure is building
Must let it out!
Rush to the lavvy
Lock everyone out!
I scream
BAD SANDWICH!
By Cranston Poorhouse
My drlng typrtr
Yur kys ar all stky
I shal wpe yu clean
Now you are better
O,
But you have ran out of ink
I fill you up
Wash my hands in the sink
Now I am better
I lov yu.
By Cranston Poorhouse
We used to share like good folk do
One for me, and one for you
But sod you now, I'm through with you
Two for me, and one for you
You're worth as much as spit on my shoe
Three for me, and one for you
Even if I had the flu
I still wouldn't share it with you
You hurt me bad, it was so untrue
All for me, and none for you
Go away
By Cranston Poorhouse
Half past two
Out come the clubbers
Can't get a taxi
What am I to do?
Go to the garage
Get a packet of Quavers
See big boned old scrubbers
Do favours for sailors.
"Kiss for a penny!"
"Sex for a pound!"
Not on your Nelly
Am I sticking around!
Must get home quick
Jump over that sick!
Dodge the old beggar
Or give him a kick
Bus at the bus stop
Full of drunk women
Burping and farting
And out of tune singin'
Off we go, be home pretty soon
Unless we bump into Alice the Goon
She guards the bus door and flirts with the driver
If you try to get off she'll drown you in saliva
Bribe her with a fag and she'll let you pass
I wish now I'd gone home with that young lass
My stop here
Ding Ding goes the bell
Thank God I'm home
From that living hell.
