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.
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.