Psychle sluts: part two

the dirty thirty

the naughty forty

the shifty fifty

the filthy five

zips, clips, whips and chains

wait for you to arrive

bike boys by the busload

stupid how they strut

smoking woodbines till they’re banjoed

and smirk at the swedish smut

life on the straight and narrow path

drives you off your nut

by day you are psychopath

by night you’re a psycle slut

on a BSA with two bald tires

you drove a million miles

you cut your hair with rusty pliers

and you suffer with the pillion piles

built in obsolescence

and travel in your guts

you won't reach adolescence

slow down psycle sluts

motorcycle mike

wants to buy a tank

only twenty-nine years old

and he’s learning how to wank

yesterday he was in the groove

today he’s in a rut

my how the moments move

brut fun psycle sluts

he cacks on your originals

he peepees on his boots

he makes love like a footballer

he dribbles before he shoots

the goings on at the gang-bang ball

made the citizens tut-tut-tut

but what do you care: piss all

you tell ’em psycle sluts

your boyfriend burned his jacket

his ticket expired

his tyres are knackered

and his knackers are tired

tell your tale to the gutter press

get paid to peddle smut

now you’ve ridden the road of excess

leading to the psycle sluts

or you can dine and whine on stuff

that’s bound to give you boils

hot dogs direct from cruft’s

done in diesel oil

or the burger joint around the bend

where the meals are fast and skimpy

for you that’s how the world could end

not with a bang but a wimpy