Toilet Rhyme

When you Rhyme you got to let it go with the flow

Im sorry if my rhymes are constipated
I dont mean to be too depictating
They just come to me when I am sat on the Squatter reattling my trotters
Oh no here we gowith one huge humph
And guess what? I am sweating like John Doe
Swine squealing like a blocked up passage way
Heres where damage is done of holding it in
Building swill in the stenching feeling
For the four hours waiting
With the constant bursting anticipation
Of needing to unblock yourself
But holding on as you march from the otherside of town
So you can rush to sit on your thrown
And yell out Timber
Pushing it out of your laurrels
Whilst grunting and Growning
Oh what a feeling

When you Rhyme you got to let it go with the flow


Sometimes I have trouble with diehorea
And so my words come out fast and unclear
As I am sitting on the golden arears
With a wet wibbling thing coming out of my arse
Making a warm sloppy feeling in my undergarms
Generating a pong that pours out of nearly every song
A bit like flipany grammer boiling on Piles
As the hole rumbles ready to blow dark thick chunks
Producing something that looks like a black haddock lake
And a smell that is quite clearly opake
For goodness sake we are going to break
cry my house mates who are quite clearly Irrate
As they had been waiting for a while
I cant help it
Just blame it on my piles
which is making me bleed a rampant vile red
And slapping my arse cheeks raw as hell
When you Rhyme you got to let it go with the flow

God Knows

My friends god knows everything
He even knows the truth about Mary
He can tell all the final scores
1-0 to the city a wind assisted debarkle
So put your pounds on the bet fair
And take all your winnings
to spend sporradically on wild eccentric things

He knew how to make all the leaders sing
Just wisper in their ear
That there is a new relligion here
He said with sence of austerie insencerity
And just sit back here and watch the action
With me on my Plaza luminated TV
You see all the best action from me

Isn't it fun when the rights wings
Hang and maime whilst the tyranicles bomb and blame
Whilst Hollywood lies deep inane
For scientology is their game
And what was that about Mormonism
Otherwise known as the Donny Osmand syndrome
Oh yeah I spiked his plate with something nasty

You see sometimes its fun being me
When you know everything
He would say bending over gingerly
Maybe some day you can be a marta to
Bit like my supposed son
That people keep on going on about

The thing about god is
That he always knew what he was on about
Ask me a question and I will give
It will be the truth
Even if it is not what you wanted to hear
Most people just twist it in their ears
Believe what they want

I Had true control then there would be no right wing fundamental peeves
Lioke the Vatigan which is lined with sleaze
Of how we control humans by spreading STD's

God is really a lager lout
And a lazy bumb who does not like to shout
Let it out, lets twist their minds
play noughts and crosses with Maries mind
To make martas of Jesus kind
He often scoffs down a vindaloo
Or a Madhar Jaffrey that he invented

and many othe quite disgusting habbits

By Jheffrey Johns 26/7/2009

Just anothe Night in The Safari Zoo

I miss the Wild life
wehen I walk home late at night
seeing 1000's of gorilas pumping for a fight
After they have had another splendid Friday night
Of cheap shafted alchopops
And being driven home by the cops
Those 40 year old bints bloated like balloons
Staring at me as if I was a loon
For not going to their saloon
Full of Orange peeled skins
And making myself look like
I had come out of a toxic waiste bin
yeah but thats supposed to makes us sexy
yeah but that really does perplex me
As to why you think it would be sexy
To have a slap on personality
As the daily grinds hits the rails
For a bit of slap and fickle
As the men gaupe like baboons from the local zoo
At the you know who
With their biuts hanging out like Brussle Sprouts

Just another night at the Safari zoo
Bumbling along with the you know who

I miss the sounds of the blairing sirens
The classy tones of 'Ello sexy
And look there's Jesus
Come screaching out from gaggling hags
Looking like abused, torne and shragged hand bags
With the men draging their knuckles on the ground
Making gargantuan sounds of apes
As they pound around
With all the intelligence of tarzan
With no space for thought in the brain
Or cans that they have in their hands
Wangling their wongers
As all space for intelligence drifts on out
As the larger lagers drift on out
And control their rotting spouts
Oh yes here louts shout it out boys
We are all girls toys
They said all tuffed up and the wronge waye up

Just another night at the Safari zoo
Bumbling along with the you know who

By Jeffrey Johns 18/7/2009

Feed the World and Geldoffs Girls

Feed the World and Geldofs girls

Living on a diet of Meth amphetimines and white powder
Bourne from the rocks and shed together
A peerless sprog of Dearly departed
Mother and father died for one another
Take one poor miss advataged youth
Who was brought up in disasterous rich upbringings
Of being a Geldoff Sibbling
To be thrown down with the common classes
As the flash, flash of Ok magazine
What a public hoob
After stumbling down the nearest tube
With a blearing nose and an attitude
That is quite simply spoilt and rude

Feed the World and Geldofs girls

So how should we do it?
I know we we'll screw it
We'll do a campaigne inouter Mongolia
Where people barely know her
So we can get the orphan to rattle and humm
Like desperation scum
And shout out save our Pixie
Save our Peaches
So they can live a life of luxury
And watch us starve and plea
Taxi for three they would scream
Take us away to Camden and gleam
They would say stairing into the seren
Of rustic shacks and dusty floors
Lets swap this place with plastered floors
And cheap shags
Where they can act like celebrity whores

Feed the World and Geldofs girls

I mean they cant help it
Being desperate that everybody felt it
To see their poor withering withdrawn eyes
Make everyone cry and mop sad tears
Oh look at poor diamond
As they plea on Children in need desperate and weeded
As they both cry we are all needed
Well let look at allo the good work they did?
I mean who did you screw?
you, you,you and you
As they point out all the indie slews
With their skinny thin brittle looks
And bones that snap and hook
Oh what good you have done by being a pointless bum

By Jeffrey Johns 18/7/2009

I am Tea Bag

I am Tea Bag all fine and swift
At the begining of the week
Like a fine mans darjeeling or Earl Grey
Swooping on the Victorian Display
Quaffing and Quaying
As by the end of the week
I tend to sower like a dodgy smart price tea
With felt falling to pieces
Like a cheap PG Tips
Falling out for the mucky builders
And frumpy towns ends
And not so much the upper class trends
Or those in trends of the floating leaves
Herbs floating in gold blends
Of Rich flavoured brain cells do decend
As I wake up almost new every morning
To be battered against the edge of a cup
Straining every last molocule of my 200th of a brain cell
As they float around in warm water
To colour it a feverent Brown
Rosehip Red or Roobosh dead
All to end up with mud inflicted crustiness
With Ponchos of White Ridiculed mess
Oi your a Tea Bag at best!

The Iron Man

The Iron Man is cast out
And laughed out upon its clunkyness
Haha what a mess cried the local vests
For he is made out of a hoover built in vancouver
That the foriegn legions of the braging parades
Look at what we brought too this country
And how it stayed they praved
but the locals were very vocal
about their discontent as the way of the work went
Lets blame the government and call it hell bent
As they sieged towards its learing glare
From the tin foil eyes staring just right there
With the spot lights blairing
Tinting right there
And his biscuit tin arms swing loose and thin
His amstrad vocal card jetted out
All crinkled and hard shout what going on
They locals replied this is you final song
As they armed themselves with what they thought
Were burners and axes
But even though the Locals were very vocal
They were not very focal
So instead the had superglue and sax's
Ha ha ha you are utterly displaxic
Laughed the iron man sounding like he was coming from a can
From somewhere like Budapest or Pakistan
Iam here to stay and I will put you all in play like a poker game
You see I was made of supertrue
And not that rubbish Uhu glue
Burn hime scoft the vocal local
Who were not very focal
As they tried to light the nibs of the glue tube nibs
And try and hit him
With the razor blunt sax's
This for the razing of our taxes
And our job axes the not very foccal locals screamed
Swinging and missing lumping each other in the face
What a public disgrace!

Death of the Optimist

DEATH OF THE OPTIMIST

Ladies and Gentlemen I want to make an anouncement
In the corner is the death of the Optimist
Calling on all Mourners ready to recite the hopes of his life
As he watched it washing around to paupers
Lacking from funding and appreciated hands
To build something that stands out these bare hands
And the creative words that he slurred with the burning finger tips
Lets halk them off they cried with jelousy and careless bodies
Wanting to stop and control everything with a jot, jot, jot

So we burried the Optimist with all the smiles that he bore
timbered up in an oak framed box with all his woulds, could and coulds
Cooped up into his lasting memmories of creativities In the labours glee
that brought about sunshine smiles long evapourated to the pennies rolling out of pockets
As the funding was shutting down like a cap on creativities crown
Oh so we will make you all drown
because you come from the same town as Van Gough, Monet and Picasso or Renoire
With all the other artists lofts and paintbrushes in the air
And scream we are writers not fighters
Painters not surplainters of flse pretences
As we find creativity wanting to be hung drawn a quatred

So lets Laugh at the Optimists grave
And say how good it was for us to make creativity our slavoury
As we indulged into the mundane copying of the want to be's for the pennies to ease
Because creativity is seen as a deadly disease
We dont design for people with differences to breath on the same terms as everybody else
Oh god theres a spastic with the creativity disease lets tax every breath he breathes
Lets face it we are all charities in need
The Optimist would plead tears
Please give me some spare change to makes this worth many smiles
Because all he wants to do is live and breath with the freedom of fresh air