mc5 - Pea and Honey Recipes

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Pea and Honey Recipes

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I Eat My Peas With Honey
And tales of derring-do.
Four lines, they can be rhyming
(That's Glow Worms to me and you).
Ending line is as usual.

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But only a few can fit on

A pin head comf'tably

I crave a piece of chocolate cake

Filled with gooey cream

For wholesome fats and carbs I ache

I'm rather broad of beam oblig.

My waistline is expanding

It surely can't be age

That makes the act of standing

Lead to impotent rage

I wish I were a tea-cup

The finest Wedgwood kind

From which the gentry might sup

A potion most refined. Not Co-op teags, then.

A biscuit fit for dipping I avoided using 'dunking'. You can thank me later

Is flavourful and firm

But cover it with dripping

See hardened dunkers squirm *later* Thank you pen :)

If I were a cartoonist

With loaded, painty brush

I'd paint a young balloonist

In youth's initial flush

And if I'd been born Rembrandt

I'd not be posting here

No self-respecting self-portraitist

would expose himself I fear swiftly moving on ...

This talk of Old Dutch Masters

Has bored me quite to tears

But Romanesque pilasters was trying to make a line about Amsterdam S&M bars, but couldn't quite get the rhyme to work

Stunned even Wackford Squeers

If you refer to Dickens

Which I'm sure you often do

Then please, don't cite “Darles Chickens”

Lest Spooner, he might sue.

Bravo!

Let the horizontal rule

If I were made of rubber

Like Michelin man of yore

I'd drink like fat Bibendum

And yet still ask for more

Oh, would that I were smart

Enough to pass a Mensa test

I'd need not work at labouring

I'd be smarter than the rest.

There's nothing in my pension pot

Apart from dreams and dust

My salary ? I spent the lot !

Now I'm homeless, old and bust

When you've got money, spend it all!

For saving's just for fools

So live your life, and have a ball

Hidden text

[p. me, N, S] I liked the last one a lot.

Be flagrant with the rules! [Phil] me too.

Poor I was born, and poor I'll die

But in the years between

My riches, they will hit the sky

-- Until my kid's a teen.

A rainy Thursday morning

Dull and wet and cool

Is ideal for a bike ride

By a lycra-bedecked fool.

So what's the point of planning

When the weather lets you down

I planned to lie there tanning

But I'm soaking wet, not brown.

A frabjous day is dawning

So sing "Callooh! Callay!"

And heed no empty warning

Too sunny for making hay.

I'm seeking new employment

I don't care what I do

My main aim is enjoyment

And a fag-break in the loo.

Bank Holidays are all too few

And all too soon are over

I waste it lazing - oh, don't you?

Or rolling in the clover

I wish I were a saucepan trad.

With a tightly-fitting lid

My contents all a-boiling

Though from view it's hid

I wish I had a pony tail

A Croydon facelift too

'Cos frankly I'm an ugly sod

Hidden text

(Phil) Oi! But for half the width of a road I'm in Croydon.

Who loves a good updo

The stain is there for all to see

Its cause not hard to guess

I've scrubbed until my hands are raw

With a cold compress.

[KS] You were a syllabubble short, m'dear. No matter.
'Get out, damn spot! Get out!' I cry

So much for dry cleaning (pen) The line can be stretched, just about, and it doesn't offend me. If it doesn't offende me it won't offend anybody, will it?

I'll soak it in ammonia

Then stand there, pants down, queening.

With copper, mangle, Reckitt's Blue

Wash day is a breeze

Hang them out, come rain or shine

'Tho it crucifies my knees

Blacking grates and mangling sheets

The joys below the stairs

The parquet's scarred by hobnail cleats
But no-one down here cares. Insurrection from the staff...

Rise e'er the dawn, to clean the hearths

That's Cinderella's fate

Then light the fires, and run the baths

And don't stay out too late.

The clocks are chiming midnight

But the sun shines overhead

The birds are sleeping in their trees

For now's the day we wed!

I wish I were a Jabberwock

A flame-eyed whiffling thing

But I am just a jubjub bird

And so, on that, I'll sing.

But if I were a bandersnatch

To spot me you'd be quick

For much like Mr Cumberbatch

I'm really rather slick

It fails to pass this simple test

It's neither flesh nor fowl

So now we feel it's prob'ly best

To euthanise your owl

I wish I were a dodgy spiv

With fag from mouth a-dangling

I wouldn't have a damn to give

My coat with coins a-jangling.

The teams are gathering in Brazil

To kick a ball around

Will our team really have the will?

I might just bet a pound.

I root against the English team

Their chances I don't fancy much

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