fashion poem

i'm grubby not dirty

i'm messy but clean

there's mud on my trousers

coz that's my scene

it comes from them hills like

then dries to a crust

you can call it earthy

or rustic if you must



or dalefolk chic, yeh

or ooh bumpkin cool

with well worn trainers

& a much loved cagoule

why give a bat's shat?

it does the job that

glamour's for spanners

& flash is for twats

...










 

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