FOUND IT!
on Sabo -Oke (Nigeria), 24/Jun/2011 12:04, 34 days ago
I have located a file which contains some of the pomes what I wrote. They were on a memory stick which has a far superior memory than I have, buried inside a file with an obscure name - so, my fault!In celebration i have retrieved and copied the poem I eferred to in a recent blog about the uselessness of mosquitos. Hope you like it!ALL MOZZIES ARE BASTARDSWhat use is a mozzie?Well, food for the birdsBut there’s too many of themIts really absurd;They seek out the localsAnd strangers alikeWhether reading a bookOr out on a hikeCoz mosquitos are bastardsThey zing through the airThey hide in your roomAnd pretend they’re not there.But during the dayThey’ll be having a kipWaiting for nightfallThe time to let rip.They spy out the touristWith white skin and blotchesThen tighten their beltsBy a couple of notchesThey aim for the bare skinOf uncovered BritsAnd leave them by morningAll covered in zits.They zoom in like Spitfires,An airborne assaultHoning in on their targetThough it isn’t our faultThat our blood is so tasty,Our flesh is so sweetOur complexion so pastyIn this tropical heat.We've been trying to spot themFor several hoursCertain they’re hidingIn each vase of flowers.So you quietly creep overWith swatter and sprayBut the mozzie's too quickAnd is getting away.And you’re standing with aerosolGetting irateWhile he’s laughing his socks offWith one of his mates.So you climb into bedAnd you turn out the lightsThen they whine in your earFor the rest of the night.There’s no more you can doExcept sleep under netsTo avoid being eatenBy these troublesome gets.You tie them down firmlyBut give‘em their dueThere’s always one little buggerGets through.As you drift off to sleepThe bastard comes backWith a sharpened proboscisAnd new plan of attack.You’ve plastered yourselfWith gallons of DEETHoping the mozziesFall dead at your feet.This should give protectionFor ages, by rightBut you still wake for breakfastJust plastered in bites.And they’ve got in the bed clothes,They’ve got in your hair;They’ve bitten your privates -They really don’t care.Your face is a war zoneOf craters and lumps;Your neck’s been invadedLike an attack of the mumps;You’re scratching your pustulesFor most of the dayCoz the stinging and itchingJust won’t go away.You dab on more lotionTo relieve the painEven knowing that soonThey’ll be at it again.So, what’s the solution,I hear you all saying?Sprays are no goodYou just gotta start prayingThat now they’ll move onTo some other poor sodAnd have him for their brekkieNot youPlease God!