Kerb Crawler

My car travails the gravel

To end my lusting travel

Fat, bald, ugly, hopeless in my middle age

Red lights my only salvation at this stage

 

Paying for sexual contact

Cause I can’t get it from the wife

Tonight, if I can’t bag a twat

I’ll be tempted to take my life

 

Sneaking a peak in the ladies

No longer will suffice

So I roll the dice

I hope she’ll be named Mercedes

 

Got my wallet full of twenties and tens

Looking for a clean working girl

Not from one of the local crack dens

Oh tumescent, feel the blood swirl

 

Moving even slower, to study their faces

The street lights reveal a bit more

Fuck! That one could compete in horse races

Beauty is a must for my whore

 

Minutes turn to hours, increasing frustration

So I lower my horizons in desperation

Spotters badge. Finally! There’s one

Fairly pretty, vulnerable and young

 

But there’s just enough dirt in her

That she’ll put her finger up me bum

I park the car like a real chauffeur

Only now I’ve fiddled my thing numb

 

Heart beating like a drum, loins creaming

I roll down the window, her breath steaming

This is what I want done, so how much hun?

You’re under arrest you perv, well done

About Wichita Lineman Was A Song I Once Heard

Wichita Lineman Was A Song I Once Heard. 'Mediocre blogger and a piously boring and unfunny writer'. Enthusiastic purveyor of the KLF sheep.
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