An elegant and refined evening would be nice,
No losing it or calling the police.
Why do these things always get so messy?
P’raps you could make it invite only.
Oh would you care for a canapé, a delightfully moreish soiree.
Your gonna tidy up yourself ……..
There’s often someone pissing on your front gate,
And a weird bloke in the corner playing Devil’s advocate.
There’s always a girl chucking up in your sink?
And a woman in the lounge who’s teetering on the brink?
Who is that rude tosspot dealing in the bedroom?
And the young lad pratting about with your camera zoom?
Not to mention the couple making out in the yard,
Or the bastard who’s spilt red wine on your records.
You spent hours making those quiches and dips,
Mended that evening dress with the broken zip,
The spare beds were made up with crisp clean sheets,
You even splashed out on some fairy lights.
How did that houmous get on the ceiling?
Why is that plant pot, precariously leaning?
The photos of Cyprus are all over the floor,
And you can’t sit in that chair anymore.