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.
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