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The Mystery Of Girls. When I was just a nipper And I was very small I didn’t really like girls At all I found most were very spiteful And when at primary school No one wanted to kiss me When we played in the farmers den But looking back now Looking at the state of some Who’d want a kiss from them Always playing elastic hopscotch And two balls against a wall They seemed like a different species Full of mystery voices like fog horns When they shouted and called Of course I found some pretty And I was madly in love with Marilyn Elsie Tanner and Doris Day And I was so jealous of Elvis Surrounded by pretty girls all day Unless you were a Tomboy on the Common Girls generally hanged around together in gangs And us boys in ours We had so many adventures Went on long walks through the fields And wouldn’t be back for hours I had three blister sisters We had good times and some bad But wearing my sisters hand me downs Didn’t make me glad but sad I had to dance with a girl around a maypole Yuck!!! I was so embarrassed What if my sister blisters and mum found out So I just watched from a safe distance When I opted out As puberty came along I couldn’t help noticing Something was wrong As girls started sprouting everywhere And when adolescence finally came I noticed things had really changed Girls looked so pretty their hair smelled nice too I wanted one or two At school and the Laughton Common youth club I’d be in love with a new girl every week But they sere not in love with me I was shy and could hardly speak I was so embarrassed My Mum would find out I liked girls And my older sister would tease I was 33 Before I brought a girlfriend home And put posters and pictures up in my bedroom As far as the eye could see Been out with a few Rotherham Lasses Who must have been short-sighted And needed glasses But I'm a good guy with a big heart Who just wants to settle down I have a lot of respect and appreciation For the women in our town Just need someone to share life with Before the sun goes down For the last time. Peter Dome©2019.
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