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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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And a beard dyed flaming red
With green-tinged skin and Vulcan ears
I'd look like I was dead
I wish I were a blowtorch
Carried in a plumbers bag
I'd be good at heated blow jobs....Coat!!!
But I'm really not a slag
I wish I had elastic arms
What mischief I could make
I'd be just like Mr Tickle® Roger Hargreaves
Unless your giggle's fake
I wish I were an apple pie
And you a pot of cream
I'm all fibre, you mere fat
But together we're serene
I wish I were a joint of lamb
Slowly roasting on a rack
You'd drool just at the thought of me
And the cutlery attack
I wish I were a polyglot
Familiar with tongues
I'd speak to all the world with ease
In places quite far flung[s]
I wish I was a prophet
A soothsayer or seer
I'd outdo Nostradamus
And on TV appear. (Softers) I note with approval that the adjective "agrees" with the noun.:-)
I wish I was a fountain pen
Filled full of blackest ink
Your shirt pocket I would stain with glee
I then get binned, I think.
I wish I had three wishes
And that, in all, makes four.
A wine-jug, loaf of bread, and thou
Submissive on the floor coat!
I wish I were in Birmingham
A-visiting my mama
Her name is Marlene, as you'd guess
And Daddy's name's Osama
I wish I had a wishing well
For then I'd make a wish
What it is I just can't tell
Being indecisive(-ish).
I wish I didn't have to wish
I'd like to trust to fate
Whatever it may throw at me
Inshallah. God is great.
I wish that it would pour with rain
Instead of slowly drizzle
My garden then would turn to mud
My bonfire quietly fizzle.
I wish I was a rocking horse
My sh*t would then be rare
The bookies would all hate me
But I really wooden care
I wish I were a dry-stone wall
Spanning hill and dale
Breaking wind from east and west -Loving your work chaps - specially on the last 6 :-)
So best not to inhale. (Chalky) Really! An' I fought you was a lady. :-)
I wish I were a mandible
Chomping down on chow
I hope there are no bones in it
If there is then I'll go "Ow!"
I wish I could articulate
And n-n-not sp-speak with a st-stammer
Then I'd say things with conviction
Such as "Hazel Blears, God damn 'er."
If anyone had warned me
That lard was bad to eat
I wouldn't now weigh twenty stone
And a heart that doesn't beat
I wish I had an extra ear
So I could hear the sound
Of one hand clapping in the woods
In glorious Sensuround©
I had a little nut tree
It bore a lot of stuff [unlike the one that bore 'nothing' - how mean-spirited was that?]
Such as gold and silver baubles
But still, it's not enough gimme gimme
I wish I was a lord-a-leaping
Over buxom wenches
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