reputation. all these poems were written on the plane coming home. you would think that
would give them some excuse.
a poem of reflection by alex and anya,
with some help from jemimah and phil.
we sit here on the plane back home
having spent a tiresome day in rome,
and dreaming of happy smiling gnomes.
we've survived a week of fun and love
as pure as jemimah (her name means a dove)
and once we're home we'll have to wear gloves.
everyday we're ciao bellad at by young and old,
and in the night we're f*~king cold
but our chachas are so hot they scold.
the hotel sucked,
some of us f*~ked (but not really)
and others chucked (ugh)
all in all it was rather fun,
even though we were made to run
in the hot italian sun
so now we have lovely squeezable buns!
a little poem about phil by alex and anya
philomena has a wiener.......
because she is a man!
she has a baby in her tummy
but she never gets a tan.
she has long legs and long hair too
and so therefore she is very loooooong!
and the secret about philomena
that nobody knows is that she's got
really
weird
TOES!
anya and alex's poem by jemimah and phil
it begins like this:
anya and alex kiss.
from their bedroom noises start,
we find out later it's alex's fart.
then the shower starts to beam,
as they make their hair squeky clean.
anya's in a stress, she begins to swear,
while alex ponders what to wear.
then we join them in their room
to dance sexily to a little tune.
across the road we see sleazy guys,
who see everything, including our thighs.
drinking bailey's while we get ready,
to search for guys in order to go steady.
in the end they had fun,
as for the sugar in the hair - sorry hun!
sirina's poem by sirina
sorrento, sorrento, what a marvellous place.
with loads of italian guys, full chase.
i'll tell you, it's a wonder we're all intacta
i really would love to drive a red tractor.
smokes and booze and pulls galore.
some girls acting like total wh*#~s!!
we're wheeling and whirling in this ba plane,
i think i'm going to be sick again.
the next verse is far to distressing to contemplate.
and now we're arriving in foggy heathrow,
back to old england, here we go.
sorrento, sorrento, what a wonderful palce,
to shag, to smoke, to pull and get laced!
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