Simon Darkshade
Mysterious City of Gold
Who ever said they didn't have fun in the old days?
Régime de Vivre
I rise at eleven, I dine about two,
I get drunk before seven; and the next thing I do,
I send for my wh*re, when for fear of a clap,
I spend in her hand, and I spew in her lap.
Then we quarrel and scold, 'till I fall fast asleep,
When the b*tch, growing bold, to my pocket does creep;
Then slyly she leaves me, and, to revenge the affront,
At once she bereaves me of money and c**t.
If by chance then I wake, hot-headed and drunk,
What a coil do I make for the loss of my punk!
I storm and I roar, and I fall in a rage,
And missing my wh*re, I bugger my page.
Then, crop-sick all morning, I rail at my men,
And in bed I lie yawning 'till eleven again.
Earl of Rochester
Dylan Thomas, Allen Ginsberg eat your heart out. This man could debauch in STYLE!
Régime de Vivre
I rise at eleven, I dine about two,
I get drunk before seven; and the next thing I do,
I send for my wh*re, when for fear of a clap,
I spend in her hand, and I spew in her lap.
Then we quarrel and scold, 'till I fall fast asleep,
When the b*tch, growing bold, to my pocket does creep;
Then slyly she leaves me, and, to revenge the affront,
At once she bereaves me of money and c**t.
If by chance then I wake, hot-headed and drunk,
What a coil do I make for the loss of my punk!
I storm and I roar, and I fall in a rage,
And missing my wh*re, I bugger my page.
Then, crop-sick all morning, I rail at my men,
And in bed I lie yawning 'till eleven again.
Earl of Rochester
Dylan Thomas, Allen Ginsberg eat your heart out. This man could debauch in STYLE!