Bad adolescent poetry
Created | Updated Jan 28, 2002
Everyone wrote bad poetry in their teens. Share your shame with me.
It's Saturday night and they're all dolled up,
Time to go out for a fight or a f**k,
To leave in the prowl, to unfurl their wings,
For these are a few of their favourite things:
The lager, the women, it's all about pride,
When you're out with 'the lads' then there's nowhere to hide;
The looking, the leering, the scent of the prey,
The piss-drunk numb gropings, the mind numbed next day.
'Cause you don't know her name, just the taste of her lips,
And the one thing that counts is the size of her tits,
For the girl lying next to you's only a number -
Scratch up another one, pillaged and plundered.
But she doesn't care, 'cos she's got her shag.
No matter if everyone thinks she's a slag.
Hell, all of her mates will have done the same thing
And the bloke'll be gone by the time the clock rings.
So I stand and stare as I watch them go out,
The men with their swagger, the girls with their pout,
And as they pass me they think 'Sullen t**t',
As i'm left there wondering 'Why can't I be like that?'
Ah, the bitterness of a gauche 15 year old. Please feel free to add your own humiliatingly poor and self-pitying verse. It's cathartic.
It's Saturday night and they're all dolled up,
Time to go out for a fight or a f**k,
To leave in the prowl, to unfurl their wings,
For these are a few of their favourite things:
The lager, the women, it's all about pride,
When you're out with 'the lads' then there's nowhere to hide;
The looking, the leering, the scent of the prey,
The piss-drunk numb gropings, the mind numbed next day.
'Cause you don't know her name, just the taste of her lips,
And the one thing that counts is the size of her tits,
For the girl lying next to you's only a number -
Scratch up another one, pillaged and plundered.
But she doesn't care, 'cos she's got her shag.
No matter if everyone thinks she's a slag.
Hell, all of her mates will have done the same thing
And the bloke'll be gone by the time the clock rings.
So I stand and stare as I watch them go out,
The men with their swagger, the girls with their pout,
And as they pass me they think 'Sullen t**t',
As i'm left there wondering 'Why can't I be like that?'
Ah, the bitterness of a gauche 15 year old. Please feel free to add your own humiliatingly poor and self-pitying verse. It's cathartic.
