Every two weeks all the men disappear,
The pubs are hollow, and filled with beer.
The streets are empty, but there is nothing to fear,
As the air is filled with a distant cheer.
Every two weeks I sit on the fence,
Counting my coppers, need a few more pence.
By the next two weeks I should have just enough,
I’ll go without sweets and all the other kids stuff.
Every two weeks I wish I was tall,
So I could see over the 100ft wall.
I’m sick of this hill; I can’t see nothing from here,
Just the ro…
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Posted on August 3, 2008 at 10:44pm —
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