The Outing Poem by Phil Soar

Disaster struck the town of margate
The season had only just begun
A gang of O.A.P's invaded
Each loaded with a Chelsea bun
They stalked the promenade for deckchairs
Kneeing youngsters in the crutch
Biting dogs with their false teeth
And shouting language; double dutch
Passers by were left exclaiming
'Whatever would their parents say'
And just as quickly left proclaiming
'Don't get in their blooming way'
The cups of tea the Cafe's sold
Were spilt upon the lino floor
But no-one there could be so bold
To show these louts the exit door
They went around in groups of twenty
Beating up the local punks
Aggro, they had got a-plenty
Most of them were steaming drunk
The grannies in their baggy bloomers
Flashing ancient varicose veins
The old men in their dirty mac's
Were urintaing in the drains
None of them were less than eighty
Each of them wore scarves of red
They kicked their way from the local station
Smashing tourits in the head
They left a trail of mass destruction
Rubbish lying all around
They vowed to come again next year
But until then, they'll go to ground
These O.A.P.s will ride again
Their trail of hate to leave once more
And you can tell where they've all have been
By the rows of teeth left on the shore!