My poem about Weston... There’s a town in Somerset, on the coast, Where the locals, they do like to boast, That if good times you like to share, Get down to Weston-super-Mare It’s got a pier, all sparkly new, Where staff and turnstiles welcome you, And if the charge it give you fright, It’s just a quid, man – don’t be tight! If you like pubs, we’ve got a ton, Full of locals up for fun, Supping from the early morn, Then home to see the wife at dawn, Along with pubs, there’s eateries, too, With every singly type of food, English, Chinese and some Greek, Plus curries that’ll make your arse weak Multiculturalism rules in town, With peoples coloured white to brown Only Stringfellows had got more poles, And there’s even gingers (like Paul Scholes) If you want a loan, or to sell your stuff, There’s loads of places that’ll rip you off, Take your cash, then off you pop, To lose it in one of our betting shops, There’s even a house of ill repute, Where dirty men their load can shoot, It now looks like the old song was right, And love IS like a butterfly… So come to Weston, one and all, See the sunsets – have a ball, And when you go home, to Wales or Brum, Remember us, your Weston chums.
Posted on: Wed, 01 Oct 2014 09:42:06 +0000
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