Who’s Your Mate?

4 Sep

Who’s your mate over there,
With the face like a mashed up pizza?
Would you be so kind to introduce me?
I’d like to know the inner her.

 

Her arms are like snakes,
All wiggly and loose; hanging down by her sides.
Look at her legs, bandy and rubbery.
It’s a surprise she can walk at all.

 

Her head, Jesus, her head.
Massive would be an understatement.
And her colossal hands like Frisbees.
They make me want to do jazz hands.

 

You know penguins, yeah?
Well her feet are like theirs.
Flip flap, flip flap. Walking like she’s soiled herself.
She’s like a mutated clown, bless her.

 

I look at her nose and I think of a parsnip,
But parsnips are quite tasty.
And is that a moustache I can see below it,
Sitting like a chilled out caterpillar?

 

When she smiles, which is rarely,
She gets funny lines around her pig-like eyes.
And which she cries, which is often,
She plays with her bacon-like ears to comfort herself.

 

Is your mate ok, because she doesn’t say much?
She just seems to stare into space.
Is your mate a bit weird? A bit of a nutter?
I quite like her, you know.

 

I spoke to your mate,
I took the time to get to know the inner her.
She may look like a freak,
But your mate, yeah: she’s alright really.

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