I want no talk of poetry, here
your vellum is the shithouse door,
arseholes for inkwells
fingernails for nibs and
never bellyache of what you’ve seen
you don’t have that right?
Do your bit and kept it shut,
pride and pissed pants
make perfect partners, oh!
one last thing, if you get home
never frighten the children
just remember,
that is all!
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