Fucking Fags


Hungry? Tired? Manic? Bored? Lonely? Smoke.

Pikey fags: Rothmans, Lambert & Butler et al.
£300 per month on sicksticks. They are all shittwigs.
Make you voice sound “great”, wake you up with a sore throat and a smokedrobe.
Make your clothes smell “shate”.
Stop you from rhyming, Cockneys take note.
Hides your lies, provide a 5 minute apathy between slugging pints.
Holding your eyes open with matchsticks?
Crack open a pack, sit back and smokily ignore the twat.
Upper and a downer chill you out and pep you up.
Make friends. Friends who smoke. We smoke. You smoke.
Who’s smokes the fags? We smoke the fags!
Two twitching fingers or a pikey finger and thumb. Hold aloft the might sword and say, “by the power of playschool”.
Kiddies find comfort in a smelly dad.
Grown-up, the comfort’s nostalgic and loving in a smelly fag.

Stinks? Just open a window.
Ever eaten a packet of crisps with a fag? Don’t bother.

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