Rough Options

Faced with a dilemma, late on Friday night,
You want to get your hole and you couldn't give a shite.
The hot chicks with the great big boobs are all now long departed
And the one you hedged your bets on has left you broken-hearted.
So the barman's called last orders and your picking up the crumbs
Or else you're going home alone getting hassled by the bums.

There's a fatty, a minger or that chick who's off her face
Pulling kisses at the wall and falling round the place.
But you know that in five minutes she'll be throwing up her tea
And you'll be holding back her hair as you're standing in her wee.

The fatty'll want to stop, you know, so she can get some chips
And in the morning you'll be scarred for life by the memory of her hips.
The chances are as well, of course, that as you sneak her out,
Your mate will laugh and point and stare at her cellulite and gout.
So forget about it, leave it out, it's not worth the fucking scorn,
You can always turn the lights down low, with a little bit of porn!

What about the bogger with the Leitrim jersey on?
She'll believe your bullshit once all her mates are gone.
But do you really want to know, the price of cattle at the mart
Can you listen to her mumble as she rips your dick apart
With her giant big farmer hands, all calloused from her work.
Driving Massey Fergusons to Mass aint my idea of a quirk.

Lets face it what you're looking for just isn't going to happen,
And finding hot chicks on the prowl's never gonna be a tap in
But to be fair it's not that bad, a hot dog will do just fine,
As you walk down to the night link to join the great big line.

And as you do you spot a girl, staring back at you
Its Ross McMahon from Junior School, that you never really knew.
So you say hello and give a smile and offer her a bite,
As she asks you for your number so you can meet another night.

Her lovely eyes tell you that she means just what she said,
That she fancied you when you were kids and you go completely red.

So the next time that you're hanging round outside the ladies jacks,
Waiting for your dream girl while avoiding all the knacks.
You never know whats waiting there, hiding in plane sight
Much better than an ugly bitch, who'd give Chucky's bride a fright.

Heroes in a Half Shell

Four wise old me, lived five hundred years ago.
Changed the way we think and reversed the status quo,
Perspective perfected, their minds were infected
With moving us on, as if heavenly directed.

Da Vinci was the greatest and seemed to do it all,
He thought outside the box, hanging masterpieces on the wall.
Even flight was on his mind as others scratched their heads
And nothing held him back except the worried Holy Feds.

Next came Donatello making statues with his hands,
Using such fine detail he would fuss about the sands
Marble, limestone, granite quartz,
He'd use them all and even warts
Were put upon his famous faces
And all sent around to different places.

Now Michelangelo lay on his back
and crippled lying on his paint soaked mac.
The Cysteine Chapel thanks him still
Decorated by his mighty quill.
The cardinals now to this day,
Meet up and chat while the smoke is grey.
The tourists stand in awe and stare
At god and Adam in holy prayer.
Some person thought it a travesty
And covered up gods modesty
With a little nighty coloured pink
Its weird to think that at the very brink
Of Mans creation from the ground
It was gods attire that was so fround.

And then another; Raphael,
Created David under a spell.
He's made of bronze and three feet tall
But perfect even if it is quite small.

'Cause people realised even back then
That amazingness was in these men.
And to this day we look in awe
To tell our neighbours that we saw
In Paris, Rome and Florence too
While they just visited the zoo.

But in that time we've really tried
To destroy their honour, they would have cried.
For now upon our telly sets
They completely changed our view of pets.
Every Christmas now the kids all scream
"We want that turtle on the TV screen".

There's four of them live with a giant rat
Eating pizzas till they all get fat
And they fight their villain with their nightly calls
"Kowabunga dude" at Krangs giant balls.
Cause their evil foe looks like a testicle
All wrinkled in his man shaped vesicle.

So there you go that's how it ends,
Its a sorry state I'm afraid my friends.
These men of greatness will live on in name
As Warner hangs their heads in shame.
The sewer turtles from a studio
Are the only names the children know
And the four great men from the Renaissance
I'm sure would stare in quiet nonchalance
And shed a tear that their works of arts
Are remembered best in cartoon parts.