The Ballad of the Gin King

November 24th, 2010

I have obtained a reputation of sorts, a name amongst my kin,
For smashing faces, breaking chairs and gouging gallons of gin.
Everyone was shocked at first due to the severity of my condition
But none could fault my ballsiness, nor pick at my ambition.
The taste was pleasant and rich, a tapestry of flavours
That challenged my ability to walk and pissed of all the neighbours,
Especially when they caught me urinating on their flowers in-between receiving sexual favours.

They look at me though as a pioneer, a pilgrim in the rushes,
Would they themselves spend an hour furiously vomiting in the bushes?
No, not they. Too clean for them. I’d figure that they’d rather
Entertain a spot of family then play bridge with mumsie and father.
I was told I’d went too far one night, waking in a pool of grime
With a donkey, a goose, three pipes, one wrench, an onion and a lime.
Instead of taking to the baths I did a little skip,
Downed another shot of gin then skidded on my sick.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop though. I’ve grown accustomed to this way,
It’s only others who believe it’s full of anguish and dismay.

Many scream and shout at me, many do implore,
“I thought you weren’t going mad but now I’m not so sure.”

Entry Filed under: God damn poetry,Ian


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