At Pocklington Little Fest

The tattooed drunk With the expensive shoes, And a desperate look Of having nothing to lose, Barracked me at the microphone. I was so glad he was on his own. A single drunk is easy to quell More than one can be a hell. I finished my spot, went for a beer Turned around to see him Standing quite near. He looked at me with pin holed eyes Then he said, with anguished sighs I may look young But I’m seventy two Nano bots in my veins To make my body renew. He said this was done Just to keep him alive Because he was a spy for MI five. He said there was danger In everything he did Then he tried to tap me For twenty quid. I’d no idea what he’d been on But bottled and sold He could’ve made a bomb. I didn’t bother to tell My aspiring mate That, for a few years I’d worked for MI8. We left him there mumbling away Sometime these characters Can make your day, And sometimes, and it could be worse Provide some fuel for dodgy verse.