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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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Contempt for your complexion
Spare the rod and spoil the child
So whack him with a kipper
The little sod has run quite wild
Who'd ever have a nipper?
I wish I were a bumblebee
I'd bumble hither-thither
Up to the point when you might say - go on - swear out loud. You know you want to.
Fuck it, then. Why dither? (Chalks) Oh, I do, but actual invitations are scarce.
I wish I was a potted plant
A fern or aspidistra
I'd live in conservatory
De-dum te-tum de-dah -life's too short to faff around with impossible rhymes and nonsensical third lines :-)
I wish I had more patience
With Software's last third line
I wish I'd thought before I wrote My fault - I must have had a brain fart
Contrition, thus, is mine. (pen) Which orifice is involved in these eruptions?
I wish I owned a parrot
I wish I owned a parrot [pen] confession is good for the soul ;o) + More brain farting!
Oh I wish I owned a parrot
But I don't.
I've thought a lot about this line
Perhaps I've over-thought
But when I think about my thoughts
I get really overwrought
I wish I were a beer mat
For real ale not for lager
Anything that I soaked up
Would serve to end this saga (mercy killing)
I wish I were a Riesling
Or maybe a Gewurz
Instead I'm just a pale Soave
Life's so unfair, it hurts
I wish I was a mezcal worm
Condensing boozy vapours
In stasis there I would remain
A source of mental capers
I would I were a pint of ale
As clear as amber dew
I'd sit upon my beermat
Anticipating you
As swift as Summer Lightning
Your cooking passed through me
The thunder rumbles on, though
As does the smell of brie
I wish I were an antelope
An ungulate or deer
I'd skip across the grassy plains Do I sound like a lumberjack? Hello, Darren. Where have you been, then?
And wonder why I'm here
I like to play upon my oud
Or my didgeridoo
But as for my soprano sax
it always leaves me blue
I wish I were a tangerine
I really don't know why
They say I'm prone to whimsy
My head floats in the sky
I wish I were a dicky-bird
A-sitting on the fence
I'd then uncover what occurred
If I were not so dense
To wait and watch and listen
While drinking whisky sours
Is, I think, a great fun way
To while away these hours
To fart and belch and chunder
Is what every Aussie loves
So is it any wonder
They don't quite sound like doves. v few rhymes
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