Pisshead

It’s an ache, arch-ache,
Ultra headache, its fists
Full force in the sternum
Sucker punch to a drunkard
Like this, take turns to return
Full force, furtive and full of it
Shit, that is, spouting it,
A fountain of the fucking stuff
Outside betting shops and chippies,
In the queue, for the last drink,
Before the devil takes over
And has us up against the bar,
Slurring, onion eyed, piss faced
Fucked, hammered like the door
Of an old Peugeot.

Shitheap it was
panelbeaters nightmare,
more dent than fucking car.

Like you, you cunt,
leery old Polack,
fishy git. Where was I? Aye?
Yeah, this ache, it makes me, tough
it does toughens up the toughnut,

don’tchoofuckingdare,
I’ll set this filthy mongrel
on you.


I love that fuckin dog
more than me own mum, that
bitch, hitched me to the skirts of
a life less, less what? Less whatever,
just fuckin less, I’d take less of this
I would, from you anyway,
come here you cunt
don’t be afraid, it’s just
the beer talking gets me soppy at first
and then there’s the anger, they got no
fucking respect, not for me anyway,
or maybe I haven’t.

Haven’t fuckin what?
I lash out see?
I weep with my fists.
Nah it’s alright.
You soppy cunt sit down, have a swig
of this, it’s shit, but cheap as fucking chips
cheaper even. Have a bag of methedrine
fucking plant food, got it off some cunt on
the internet, not like it’s proper drugs,
but it takes away that fuckin ache until
I snap and need to feel some cunt give a
fuck enough about me, to take the time
and trouble to kick this pissy head in.

But you’re alright mate, you are,
You’re alright.

He’s alright.

Cunt.

He’s alright.