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NOTE:((NEEDS AN EDIT!  Over 18 only – this seems obscene……. But ob seen worse.))

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Poncho & Lefty messed up this hotel

I’m here, room service will not hear me yet;

The Mob they thought I had a certain debt,

I  paddled down to  Mexicali hell.

 

Bus driver doesn’t need a map, he says

He just might tell  the truth if I relax;

I better take a sail to Ja-make-eo

Push a bus uphill  chock full of ho’s

(Note: This really happened

Returning from Savannah La Mar

Heading to Negril. They weren’t hos

They wuz just party girls)

 

A tongue in both your ears will wake you up

                               real quick

I got back on the bus and I found out

“Meet us tonight at the Soon Come disco,”

                                they said

“We’ll give you something else you won’t forget.”

 

 

 

 

I need some sour-sop juice & that’s no joke,

I must lie down, pass out before I poke;

While Jenna leans so sexy  by the door,

My balls they be conflicted to the core.

 

Captain Jack he sails south just as we wrote,

A full moon on the Grand Bank’s not like this;

Banana trees are sneaking cross my  yard

                                           right now

While Davey G’s best lady rubs  my nards.

(NOTE: “nards” – one of Paddy’s favorite

expressions)

 

 

 

I don’t care so much, I got my hoodie

Her buttocks blossoming gives me a woody;

I didn’t fuck her gotta tell you to be true,

I relieved myself four times into the dew.

(Editor’s note: WHOOPS!)

 

Did I get some thanks, no not at all!

I felt real true blue pressure in my balls;

Maybe I’ll sail north to Montreal

A lady I know there will give me  all

 

With three mobsters after my appendage

I tend to watch all night, see who’s around

The prairie oysters they collect from

             unsuspecting men

Makes em giggle all night long while chewing them.

 

(Ed. NOTE:  No! Shoot the poet!)

I grew up in the circus with my daddy

Where hookers were gals and also men

And with the appetite of all them  prairie folk

 Hide out in your jockstrap with a 4:10!

 

                                           ((editor’s note: OUCH!!))

Hi Willie!

(This is god awful poetry!

That prick’s gonna have to pay me more

And bring me another bottle quick!

yours truly,   Editor 666)