I wish my mind would stop these rhymes
They come at inconvenient times,
Even before my alarm bell chimes.
This bloody awful bookie's pen
Will drive me round the bloody bend.
I try to write things down with it,
But it's a piece of useless shit.
Why does this stuff come in my head
Before I'm out of bloody bed?
I'd rather get much-needed rest
Than stagger round in trunks and vest
To get my hands on fresh supplies;
I'd liefer in my warm bed lie.
I'm troubled by a restless muse;
Or is it caused by last night's booze?
In any case it's just bad news.
I feel this need to capture verse
But at the time it's like a curse.