O'Vrien to bate the fine wine boys of yesterday's soup.

His belligerent head on diligent shoulders

Can no man drag him from his infinite loop

Of O'Neill Pole boulders and Brogan tight neck holders.

This yard ape dons Howard's cape to slam dunks and throw shapes

This sham hunk plays Mayo tapes and buck rapes

His way through pints and pints and pints

O'Brien plagues the mind of the artful dodger

No time for mullark, that avocado fuck or a second lodger,

He'll live alone in this cartoon world, his oily fortune squirelled

Away amongst the tortured secrets of Gwen and then

We realize what Fucking hell he cast upon those

With Bangkok eyes and tree lined island toes.

He goes about the daily prose of what not to impose, compose or propose to those who share the know of who knows what and there she blows.

O'Brien to bate the fine wine boys of yesterday's soup.

By Larry O'Regan

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