My Bong

My Bong
Eeeey it’s a lovely thing
Dirty but it’s not like it’s got to be too clean
I keep sucking up the insightment
But it keeps fucking up my plight cos
I was heaven sent
Ha ha!
More like hell bent
On picking up the commended, shattered pieces
The meat is so tender if you batter their fleeces
Oh shit, I implore, what am I on about?
Somebody pour my bong a stout
Yep  
“Ah lick’d off da grit; ah cut yah butt only a bit”
Oh shut it you crony old git
Ah yes the bong, people won’t you listen now?
Sing along
I don’t know who I’m kissing now but I could go for a frantic fling
Plus I think it’s the ghost of Janis Joplin, she agrees but I scream “I can’t!”  
 She’s too ladylike that ain’t no ghost, it’s just Robert Plant