Bobbing for Apples

Bobbing for apples,

humming on plums,

feeling his shaft

around my gums.

Tugging down panties,

drinking my juice,

fingers inside me

like I’ve been goosed.

My mates will all call me

a dirty, sad slag

but then they will call me

and ask if I gagged.

They are just jealous

’cause I’m well fitter, blates

and all the boys want me

more than my mates.

Without E’s we argue,

we fight and we bitch,

with E’s we cuddle

and lez up and kiss.

The boys fucking love it

but I don’t like minge

I like cock-a-plenty

after a binge.

The boys they all want me.

The girls want me too

and if they say they don’t

they’re just jealous,

I’m better than you.

Who needs good grades

when you’ve got looks like mine?

Who needs good grades

when you can get high?

Buns in the oven

can be deflated before cooked

and drugs, they’re just fun,

none of us hooked.

Like a fish in the water

my gills take in and flush out;

you can drown in ecstacy

but from E you can’t drown.

Fair enough you can’t piss

and you chew up your cheeks

but your bum cheeks will be clenching

when you both reach your peak.

Fuck, I love life.

Uni’s for geeks

why try and do well

when the future is bleak?

The money goes to darkies,

we don’t look after our own.

We give the greasy cunts money,

a car and a home.

There’s not any jobs

so the best way to make dough

is to lie and your back

and watch as he grows.

Stopping and starting,

breathing fast and then slow

until you’re lying on your back

at the funeral home.

That’s the life for me,

a variety of breaths

from drink, drugs and fucking

up to my death.

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