I’m late, I’m late

For a very important date

I don’t mind you see

If it’s a blind date or three

‘Cos I prefer not to know

What she looks like and so

I just turn up, give her a sultry look

and then hope for the best

(you can imagine the rest)

 

Now in my mind’s eye

She’s a looker, that’s why

I always prefer, to buy 

flowers for her 

But I’ve had too many shocks

like a bird with Botox

In every nook and cranny

Even around her…

(no, not going for the rhyme on that)

They’ve turned up in shorts

In the freezing cold

told me they’re young

When really, they’re old,

enough to be my aunt

 

Others just sit there and flaming rant,

drink me dry, then ask me why

I bothered to ask them out

When I’ve not got the clout, I said I had

 

My profile indicated that I was a bad,

mean, handsome rocker, when I’m actually

an old, un-bold, geriatric shocker

 

Ah well you can’t win them all

I can always go down the snooker hall

‘Cos being no fool, I could steal a cue

and make a living out of playing pool

 

It worked for Rod Stewart, with Maggie May

He’s got a toy girl, eight kids, and lies on the beach all day

So, stuff it that I’m late for my important date

Let her stand in the queue and flaming wait!

The Urban Poet