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