Copyright © 2014 Mab Jones

‘Queen Mab’ cover art by Norris Nuvo

The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

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This edition published by Burning Eye Books 2014www.burningeye.co.uk

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Burning Eye Books15 West Hill, Portishead, BS20 6LG

ISBN 978 1 90913 641 0

Revolution

In Revolution girls revolveLike well-cooked meat on spitsInebriation soon dissolvesTheir knickers and their witsMen devolve and make resolveBased on the size of titsIn Revolution problem solvedAs twits with tits and gits with zitsBecome involvedAt least for one night onlyViva la Revolution!

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Cardiff Song

He was from Ely and ‘er from PontcannaShe lived wiv ‘er mum, and him wiv his nannaNowhere tuh go so they went to the parkThe grass was so green and he had a full bagSkin up, block up, feel up, knock upBut she was firteen so he went to the lock up

I likes you likeI dunno whyYuh face aint tha’ goodBu’ the rest is urrigh’

She wore ‘er skirts right up tuh yurReal leather boots and white fake furClothes from Primark, gold from ArgosOrange foundation and too much lipglossLittle white thong and black push-up braAnd she found love each night standing outside the Spar

I likes you likeYou knows I doLast week I loved ‘erBut now I loves you

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She liked a Chinese, bur he liked a curryShe said less get married, he said woss the ‘urryShe patted ‘er guts, I’m expectin’ she saidHe fought of ‘er dad, next week they was wedSeven munfs later he gorruh surpriseThe baby was fine, but ir ‘ad Chinese eyes

I likes you likeI don’ like yuh sisterYou’re my true loveI swear I ain’t kissed ‘er

Their eyes met ‘cross a crowded chippyHe played wiv his phone, she pur on some lippyShe ordered a sausage, he asked fur two conesThey knew they was cousins, their last names was JonesThey started tuh date, they was mad fur each uvvuhAnd found out too late that they ‘ad the same muvvuh

I likes you likeI don’ do lyingI didn’t go wiv ‘erSo bloody stop cryin’

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Oh, I Wish I’d Looked After Me Tits(after Pam Ayres)

Oh, I wish I’d looked after me tits,Those two great front wobbly bits,All the bad bras I chose,And the ill-fitting clothes,Oh, I wish I’d looked after me tits.

I wish I’d been that much more able,When me front bits was firm, like, and stable,To choose a twin cuppin’,To hold me boobs up in,That were wired up with big bits o’ cable.

When I think of the brassieres I wore,That made both me bosoms feel sore,They was either too tight,Or too loose, like, and slight,But I didn’t care – I could score!

Me mother she told me no end,“Don’t you follow that lacy bra trend!”I was young then and gormless,Me bras was all formless,I never had much time to spend.

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Oh I slung cloth around ‘em alright,But I chose things that didn’t fit right,The lace scraps I bought,Didn’t give much support,But I didn’t mind, in the night.

Me mother’s advice did I spurn;Too late, oh, too late did I learn,If I’d chosen a brassiereThat looked much less jazzier,Me boobs now would be much more firm,

Now I lays in me bed and each breastDo slope down each side of me chest;They wobbles and jiggles,Like fat worms they wiggles,And sits on me knees when I rest.

How I laughed at me mother’s front bits!Now it’s mine that flop down when I sits.Me proud, pointed shootersNow two flabby hooters –Oh, I wish I’d looked after me tits!

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