The Skive

Playin’ hookie at the bookie,
Only there for half a tick,
Got a ticket for a horse,
And a rumour that I’m sick,

Then drivin’ down the road,
Clackity clack,
In my banged up, piece of shit,
Got a push up bra,
And an American car,
I’m out for the day,
But I won’t get far,
The tyre’s busted,
The motor’s rusted,
There’s gunk on the dash that’s all weird and crusted,

Break down in a dodgy lane,
Walls that ring with howls of pain,
Would die of shock if a dog were tame,
And there’s a copper and he knows my name,

I’m up shit’s creek,
He’s on my beat,
I’m running now in stilettoed feet,
Regret my choice of lingerie,
But if skiving’s illegal,
That’s news to me,
Probably that armed robbery,

He gives a lunge and a plunge,
And I’m face down in pavement gunge,
The copper’s on my back and he weighs ‘bout forty tons,

Off I as ticked,
Presently was nicked,
Not quite brutality but subtly was kicked,

My day’s off pay off was unfortunately arrest,
And my cell mate’s scary face was a cut above the rest;
Hair messed, string vest,
Patience I was dared to test,

So Kicked in the shin,
Banged up in a bin,
Gave a little run around,
But guilty as sin,
Yet not all bad,
Cuz the horse did win.


About Gwen and Elinor

Two bloging buddies who love tea and biscuits.
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