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  You are @ HomeAdults Poetry

Poetry

Source: Adults

Author: Jan Miklaszewicz

Title: Bootiful.

There once was a man had a poultry farm
and bootiful it was.
Them poultries held a certain charm
and bootiful they was.
Cooped up in a drippy shed,
habitually interbred,
fed up the arse till they was dead,
and bootiful they was.

There was a spot of bother on that poultry farm
and bootiful it weren't.
Them poultries come to early harm
and bootiful they weren't.
Soppy buggers caught the flu
(come from a seagul, name of Stu,
who'd guv the rubbish bags a chew)
and bootiful they weren't.

Now everyone knows about the deal
and bootiful it 'aint.
Enough to put you off your meal
and bootiful it 'aint.
Remember that fucker and his poultry farm,
Wallet fatter than a sumo's arm,
hawking his product without alarm,
cos bootiful it 'aint.



Published on writebuzz®: Adults > Poetry
 

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