Job Lot Poem by Phil Soar

My friend just bought a fctory that manufactures turds
For people who are sick of being shit upon by birds
you can thorw them at the pigeons as they sit upon the ledge
Or lob them at the blackbirds that keep singing in your hedge

But here's a word of warning, if you throw them in the street
Be careful tehre's no-one about, in case the two should meet
For just you try explaining, why you're standing in the road
With turds inside your pocket, and another bucket load

Even if you're very good, at making an excuse
Police will take a detailed look at why you're on the loose
Just go about your business, be careful what you hit,
The last thing anyone else expects
Is a face full of well made shit.