This little story is in response to a good friend of ours who asked us to write a poem about a problem that most males of the species will relate to. Me and Dauphy are always happy to do requests, so here it is. Hope you enjoy it.

Hobbo

We aim to please

Now this here's a delicate subject
Appertaining to only us blokes
As a poet, I cannot ignore it
And it's often the subject of jokes.

I'm talking of bodily functions
But I'll be as discreet as I can
Womenfolk don't 'ave to read this
Though I bet, they will sneak a quick scan.

It's all got to do with the diff'rence
What me mam used to call 'dangly bits
A woman has need of the toilet
For the 'ole operation, she sits.

We first find this thing, in our nappies
Such a treasure, for any young boy
Then what does your mam go and tell you
It's a present, but it's not a toy.

As lads we are given a bucket
Which we tip upside down, so we reach
We balance a'top, and rest on the rim
Missus, watch where you go with that bleach.

Growin' up, we are taken to visit
This white shiny thing, the urinal
The smell when you walk through the door
Can best be described as caninal.

At home, there is nothing, quite like this
Instead, we must target the pan
It's gen'lly a two handed job
And we aim it, as best as we can.

Now here, lies the crux of the problem
As we stand there, with hands occupied
Not a care in the world, so we whistle
Then, the lid on the bog, starts to slide.

A dilemma of piddling proportions
How do I, take this matter in hand
Without pissing all over the bathroom
Thereby risking, my wife's reprimands.

Quick as a flash, 'ere the lid falls
'Leg lifts, an' I catch it wi' knee
But far from an ideal solution
Me 'ands are now covered in wee.

So ladies, when choosing a toilet
Pick one, wi' a lid what stays put
Don't 'ave them, what drop down while you're streaming
Q.E.D, I think, open and shut.