Argh the dump, it stunk
Not a very lovely site
The haunting place of wretched cats
The beaten tracks of sewer rats in sodden ashes
An island hideaway sun cussed
Strewn like snakeskin's the laddered tights
Not a very lovely site
None the less this jumbled mess
of junk and tat
This unappealing pile of scrap
Was what Mick's stick had pointed at
Then knowing you he smelt a rat or possibly a rancid cat
He carried on with breath held deep
He scrambled, clambered up the heap
"beejeebus!"
"Oh I say this has to stop!"
"Oy mate geya plates out!"
Mick looked round in some consternation
Not to say surprise
Now was it his imagination
or did before his very eyes or ears exist
The crummy heap tell him where to get off?
"Oh yes" he scoffed, "And who said that?"
"I for one!"
Mick looked around and lying on an empty
pound tin can of beans or 'has beans'
you could say
was a cotton reel....