Ode to Nessa & Smithy.

Oh God! The guilt. What about Lucy?

Did you hear what she did with the bog brush up in London?

It’s juicy!

They hate each other, I’m certain.

Hold up, she’s pregnant!

EXCUSE ME!?

Shacked up with a bus driver

Riddled with herpes.

They kiss on the sofa,

In labour,

It seems dirty.

And they can’t find the dad,

Not at the golf range,

Where is he?

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