215 – Oi, Waiter!

Poem number 215
.
Oi, Waiter!
.
Don’t put your thumb in my chicken
Your nail is all dirty and black
Your skin’s flaking off
And spit from your cough
Coats the knuckle, and drips off the back.
.
I’d quite like a squeaky clean chicken
Untainted by germs from your thumb
If the food makes me ill
I’ll be taking your bill
And inserting it right up your bum!

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