Pay Me, You Fucks!

I've been doing this shit for over a year
Bashing out poems, and I've yet to hear
From any publishers willing to make
My poems famous, make no mistake

You'll be raking in cash faster than you can tell
Me to fuck off, in which case I'll yell:
"I am the next Benjamin Zephaniah!"
Although I'm not black, and his income's higher

But no matter, because I have the drive and passion
To produce masterpiece poems in magniflorious fashion
And I'll tattoo one on my arse, you'll see
Passive-aggressive til I die, you've not heard the last of me!

The Cucumber and its Many Functions

There's so many things you can do with a cucumber:

You can chop it or dice it to go in a salad;
you can break it and sharpen it to put into a Mallard.
You can cover it in vinegar, balsamic or malt;
hold it up in the garden and attract lightning bolts.
You can hurl it through the air, like a green phallic spear;
you can dip it in Vaseline and stick it in your ear.
You can use it as a club and whack someone's bum;
you can use it as a rolling pin and squash a small plum.
You can wrap it as a present and give it to a boy called Billy;
strap it to your leg and pretend it's your willy.
Yes, there are so many uses for the humble 'cumber.
Like pretend it's a boat and sail the Humber.