The Henery the Eighth Time Around

 

The Henery the Eighth Time Around

 

 

Morbid, now she let herself get fat,

hard on the knees,

those joints are hocks of ham

seized by a convulsion,

dealt out slim-fast meal plans,

I’m Henery the Eighth, I spam.

For you, I compel thee,

here’s African root, near as free,

gets an erection rock hard,

just send me your details, credit card

with all important reverse three digits

put my hand down my trousers, wait, fidget,

play it for years, longer than you can;

I’m Henery the Eighth, I spam.

Like you try to offer celestial surprise

but I couldn’t be much further from the stars,

scales falling from her crocodile eyes

some flowers on the girl’s anniversary,

spends her life reading old habitual obituaries,

rest in peace and fond remembrance

because he don’t, he won’t - set his ad blocker

on full, I’ll still pop-up malicious sites where I can,

I’m Henery the Eighth, I spam.

Well, hi there, gorgeous, how you doing?

I contact you, I seen your light,

your profile picture looks just right

and I suspect that you don’t bite,

for you haven’t had it in years,

come to my woman’s breasts,

your milky head to my full bags press

but I don’t have the verse to write that yet,

I rip these pictures, I spit them out,

I saw your profile, my handsome man;

I’m Henery the Eighth, I spam.

In Clacton on Sea and its environs,

would you believe

there’s a race of one-legged metaled thieves,

who’ve seen a finish line and grieve,

fiddling on I-phones while homes burn,

sagged off school and didn’t learn,

a square root of nothing held in their hands,

I’m Henery the Eighth, I spam.