I got into my Range Rover
and headed to the beach.
On the way cashed a check
and loaded the cooler
with Patron and Dom Perrignon.
I called my stock broker
to tell him to send money
to my bookie.
I put 200 quid down on the 7th
Exterminator to win.
It’s a bitch being a poet
lying on the soft sand
cold drink in hand.
It’s a bitch pretending to be the
poor degenerate
everyone wants you the poet to be.
Read these poems of mine
‘nd make no
mention of who I am.
My jacuzzi isn’t big enough
nor does heaven
accept get out of jail free cards.
