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Mates

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Mates
Two right good mates
Meet up in a pub
They have a great time 
And eat lots of grub.

They drink loads of beer
Then, needing a wee
They follow each other
It's normal, you see.

One says to the other
"This trough's a bit high."
"Mines longer," he said
"I'll give it a try."

Then he looks across
A girl's washing her hands
It's a sink, not a trough
Fast, he understands.

They've gone in the ladies
Instead of the gents
The lass does not laugh
Pays no compliments.

Both so embarrassed 
The two stop mid-pee
Then zip up their trousers
And giggling, they flee.



By Hobbo

A contemporary poet with a Yorkshire sense of humour

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