The Yorksher Blues

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com
The Yorksher Blues 

My rhubarb won't grow, it's the wrong kind of soil. 
My moped is slow, and my car's leaking oil. 
My snake ate my cake, so that now she can't coil. 
My new metal kettle, has melted, won't boil. 
I'm bluer than my tattoos, 
I've got me those Yorksher blues. 

My dog's chewed my clogs, and he's spewed on the floor. 
My cat's run away with the tomcat next door. 
My sister's a mister, whose wife is a whore. 
I'm a medical miracle close to death's door. 
I'm bluer than my tattoos, 
I've got me those Yorksher blues. 

My missus insists, she won't leave, don't ask why?
 I know that her beau is a really nice guy. 
I have seen, she is keen, and I can't tell a lie, 
Just leave me alone, in my home, and I'll die. 
I'm bluer than my tattoos,
 I've got me those Yorksher blues.

22 Comments on “The Yorksher Blues

  1. These silly blues have me giggling and just out-right laughing, especially the last stanza. Man, those tattoos do fade blue, don’t they. Well-written, friend.

    Liked by 1 person

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