Smell...

This Skr3w is new, and I dunno wat 2 do,

Bashed ten blues, but my minds still on u.

Tried 2 get up but my duvets stuck like glue,

Lying here cashless thinking who to sue.

Ur just a lovely brunette and I want 2 smell ur hair,

Give me 5 mins, I don't give a toss wat u wear.

Don't wanna get close, n I'm always aware,

That peeps think a bloke like me, cud never ever care.

I don't hav the words to spit to u online,

N u'd prob be miffed if u ever heard this rhyme.

Can't write love songs, they wudn't hv that chime,

And I run 2 much to even have the time.

I jus like that smile when u don't even know,

Flick of that brown, putting on a show.

Your the sort of girl that I'd really like to know,

But the chance of the bet is I'd prob let it blow.

So I sit here alone n just twiddle wiv my phone,

Hoping every min that u'd catch the dog n bone.

Coz the truth of the matter is I'll prob end up alone,

N that Facefuck profile I stare at, is prob just a clone.

© 2020 – All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

Irritants....

My TVs just broke and it ain’t no corny joke, coz lying on my bed only makes me want to toke.

I need a KO express, Caffeine-less depress, and I wait for the sleep, with an ashtray on my chest.

The windows open wide, yet I close the curtains and hide, for nothing is as nice, as a wasps buzz inside.

You get a little cup, try to lift the sucker up, but try as you might, the dopy insect won't take flight.

It's just another irritant!

My front rooms bulb just gone again, best part of a tenner to see again, what the fuck have I got to spend, I just need a pay-day lend.

Ask my old man for a loan, and get greeted by a moan, all I want is a clear view zone, but I'll have to shop alone.

So I go to B&Q for a shop, only need a 60 watt, yet back in the car I've forgot, and nut the wheel, blood clot.

Coz those Ray-bans on my eyes, must be very heavily disguised, still I'm pleasantly surprised, to find my shades still on my head alive.

Shopping is always an irritant.

Then a bird phone rings as I'm shopping for some things, it's just another yabba yabba ting, should have just let it ring.

But I get in my car, don't drive too far before the hands-free goes HA, and I can't turn off the electrics in my car.

I try to pop the hood, like any man could, the lever bloody should, but snaps in half well good, left here covered in blood.

Try to give my Dad a call, but he aint answering at all, so go to knock on a neighbours door, knowing they're probably being silent hugging floor.

Flat battery irritant

Heat is mean on my thin blood, can't cool down like people should, so I'm lying on my bed, but too few Mummy's little helpers to help make me brain dead.

But now my net curtains fallen down, and it ain’t a funny frown, coz I know I'll surely drown, from all the insects in the town.

I can't stand this boiling heat, the damp sweat soaked nightly sheets, yet I've got an top deck view, of an estate of flabby meat.

Maybe they should all try to disguise, coz those Slag Tags ain’t very wise, and if you stand under my skies, I'll automatically 2 metre-ize.

TWO Metres – Irritant Bitches!

So I'm walking to the chemist, when a doofus becomes a menace, and an argument that ain’t even mine, ends up with possibility of doing time.

I must have a face right for a punch, and I've had to absorb a bunch, funny thing is though, I've never gone to ground once.

But I'm fed up of Doctor Who? Telling me they maybe new, but seemingly well clued, that my granite skull's my saviour too.

Well you can take it all back, coz as great as it is n all that. I'd rather remember more, than become a hundred year old senile bore.

I'm probably just another persons irritant.

© 2020 – All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

This Is A Shit Show....

Do you believe the countries gone insane?

Fruit drink bugs gonna eat your brain,

Please someone come feel my pain,

Coz I'm alone, stone broke and afraid.

So many unnecessary people dying,

And big men are heart broke, dropped crying.

Dickhead selfish off panic buying,

An all police want to do is fuckin cite me.

Because my health is a fucking shit show,

On more meds than ten Grannies I know.

Blood eeks from the leaks, legs on show,

An bubbles pop from the snot on nose blows.

It's a sweat tank, drip drop, sorry state to be,

And Gandalf's beards half grown face on me.

Grey whiskers and no razors I can see,

Sofa dove already, one two twenty pee.

All tin cans, been scanned, and bin bagged,

Rotten fruit but it's the best meal I've had.

Got no idea if I'll ever see my Mum and Dad,

When I go out, scarf wrapped face, tight clad.

Coz this Town is a fucking shit show,

And my mental health is nagging bad, full blown.

My inner brains having a decent chat show,

And I'm socially isolated, nowhere to go.

Coz I can't even make some decent Ps,

Nags aint running, bookies closed on high street.

I need some soft paper to wipe my underneath,

But got no petrol to fly off to the heath.

Coz it seems like this worlds in martial law,

It's a sign many have seen years before.

I'd be surprised if they relaxed all new laws,

Get used to sweating hot all summer indoor.

I swear I got bugs sucking thoughts from my brain,

Not a days passed that I've been half sane.

Only got a Pot Noodle and half a can of K,

And not a single neighbours asked if I'm okay.

Coz this countries a fucking shit show,

BoJo clown, Tory fucking road show.

Every booked ops gonna be a no show,

And I'd risk ten new fines to make some quick dough.

So this rope here is going to stay,

You never know I might need to use it one day.

I let it swing back n forth an give it a play,

Then kick the chair, doped choked, merry on my way.

© 2020 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

Fuck Facebook....

So go fuck Facebook,

    fake friends,

    and fucked faced,

    Facebook wannabes.

Your profiles prob all been cloned,

    so I only seen,

    what I wanna see,

    yet never seen.

20 year old dole blogs, arguing, musing,

    I could have been,

    I should have been,

    why wasn't I a “been”?

And decades year old school friends,

    Snapshoted and crop shotted,

    where I wanna be, could have been,

    yet never seen.

Fuck fake face pretends,

    big bell ends,

    past wanna bees,

    and ancient beauty queens.

Facefuck's trade is soaring,

    scammers' is roaring.

    posters selling, fake post pretending, miss-telling,

    but never ever, sending.

Southern beauty Queens,

    spots never seen and endless video streams,

    of automatic wet dreams,

    could have, should have beens, but sadly never to be's...

Got a dozen more “friend” requests to send,

    then I'll have tons more “friends”,

    in my "fiend list" than your "friend list", even if it never ends,

    but sadly from clicks you didn't, but wish you'd really sent.

And now every Thursday night,

    is weekly indoors street party night,

    support health workers rights,

    nurse our Boris Johnsons tight.

Otherwise society will get offended,

    because when society isn't shaped and bended,

    and when it's time to rhyme along, we get along, so sing along,

    and clap and salute, right?

It's 8 O'clock no?

    The Sun says so, so it must be so,

    porch or window, put on a good show,

    coz it's patriots time and not clapping could never be a crime....

But shouldn't the NHS be funded right,

    for all times, all come, day and night,

    not just in case of virus times,

    like this emergency fruitbug crime?

So sorry Mr OAP,

    your name forgets me,

    but the Mail,

    always kindly, and daily, reminds me.

I really don't appreciate being told,

    daily, needlessly re-sold,

    about your patrioticy, your charity,

    lapping your lawn as I drink my morns cup of tea.

You'd be sitting in silk slippers son,

    drinking pints of Rum,

    not in photos with Daily n Scum,

    if was up to me.

But you're not, you're just another Facebook meme,

    been sent off the best team.

    A striker Besties never seen,

    yet just more Facefucked news to read!

© 2020 Robert Reid – All Rights Reserved