| Till the very end
|
| We’ll be just as friends
|
| I’ve known you better
|
| You’ve seen my worst
|
| So let’s invent words
|
| When a good night flounders
|
| And it’s over
|
| How good it was
|
| I tend to know
|
| By adding up
|
| Or rounding down
|
| The evening’s count of jokes
|
| Me and my ilk
|
| Share a twang that’s undeciphered
|
| By other gangs
|
| That’s a thing I love about my
|
| Fine brothers in slang
|
| If it’s got a funny story
|
| It’s made to me
|
| It’s not for others in ear splash
|
| It’s ours, it’s mad, it’s many hours
|
| Spent laughing at events passed
|
| We smirk at how smart
|
| The quirk that we spark
|
| A word which people laugh at
|
| It sparks around the crowd
|
| This work of art
|
| Which we have found
|
| I love the craze
|
| Of the latest phrase
|
| Amazing mongrels of conjoinment
|
| Crazy paving sayings
|
| Are a joy to say with mates
|
| And girls all love the lingo
|
| They curl right up and bingo
|
| They go that extra smile
|
| They go the whole damn snog
|
| I mean it though
|
| The joke from that one night
|
| That was wrong
|
| That makes no sense, really
|
| Shorten to a word
|
| Then to a nod
|
| That is friendship to me
|
| The secret handshake of three mad mates
|
| That makes me pleased to share traits
|
| In understanding absurdities
|
| That mean our brains play |