Some of his posts are dodgy but you can’t argue with the quality of that
Exalt
Thank you farmer for the exalt,
Im a crazy fooker, so the dodgy posts arent really my fault
Poetry is good poetry is great.
Of my next post, see what you make
Stop revealing the identities you Ball Ox
say it in rhyme,
or i wont give it my time
You’re right, he’s a fooking prick.
Never says please or thank you
About as friendly as an overflowing portaloo
I’d love to chin him one on his jaw
But he’d probably get the law
And i’d be screwed, all for a pint,
A few hints, hints hints
Yes he is a fat blob,
An ignorant bastard who’s crap at his job.
Behind the bar he prances,
Spinning glasses and giving dirty glances
Just because he made a poor career choice,
Cant he smile and be fooking nice???
He’s a minimum wage earning scrubber for fook sake,
Acting the hard lad - how much money does he make?
I’ll still be down there come half five
If he fooks with me, he’ll be lucky to be alive
I’d say his mother is a dirty tramp;
born and raised on an itinerant camp
If i knew the manager of that place
I’d tell him about that fooking disgrace
I ordered two heino and a bulmers I think
he came back to me with the wrong drink
when told of his error, he kicked up a stink,
instead of an apology, a smile and a wink
Irwin’s wife and rolf harriss
Wouldnt even come close to embarrass…
A guy when he’s seen
ordering a pint offa the eating machine
I feel like Enid Blyton in the company of James Joyce
Mayo are gick - by ball ox
Ball ox is a poet
Yesterday he saw Mayo blow it
If you had to eyes you would know it
Kerry were better all over the field,
Not an inch to Mayo, they doth yeild
Imagine how sick the Mayo folk feeled
The sport is in disrepute
McCormick was shite - he couldnt shoot
An new era for the kingdom yon herald
Could it be as good as Crowley and Fitzgerald?
Brady is a big boy
At the end of the match, was glad to see the coont cry
So fook Mayo, says the dub
Now until they bleed, their eyes they must rub
A brief effort:
Who?s that cooking socks?
That psycho weirdo ball ox
To F365 he shall depart
No more poetry will he impart
No more ethnic slanders
On jews, blacks, arabs or knackers
He was Joyce to my Enid Blyton
A right proper heir to Monty Pyton
He still hates the barman in the Harbo
And is a lover of Sam’s old pairs porno
I shall miss him and his poetry
Even with his GAA envy
To WOW
Thou art no square,
to be fair
An improvised exchange,
Could be fun if it we doth arrange
That is possible Ball-Ox
Alas my poetry is complete Bollocks
Christ its quiet here now
Some in Celtic Park, some having some blow
Bandage is gone, as is Therock67
Perhaps to work or some brothel in heaven
I’m here though giving it some on The Gaa thread
‘Whats the point?’ I ask ?The season is dead?
I don?t want to and probably wont work
And I hate arrogant coonts from Cork
If we slag them, we cant be censored by anyone
Cos they’re not Black, Jewish, Arabic or a Bloody Hun
To abuse the rebels would ne just fine
Once we do not cross the line
Watch out for the administrators
They are masturbaters
The oppressive regime
is ugly and mean
Too much work has been put on my table
To do it all i am not able
To the manager i would like to say
“Do this fooking shite yourself ok?”
Do you like the USA?
If not i think thats gay
Yabba babbo be jabbo
The US of America cna get fucking bent
With their foreign policy and stupid president
Both George Bush’s are nitwits
A complete pair of tits
Why do you go there Ballock?
Is it to get away from Therock?
The administrators are away
Alas no Mice came out to play
Lets get back to slagging Cork
And there’ll be no time to work
I spent a lot of time there
And it nearly made me queer
The US of A is the greatest land of all,
When you come back to Ireland, you get a great fall.
Im fooked for work - dont know what im going to do at all.
But finished or not, at 8 im going the pub to watch teh football
I hate Cork and the smelly bastards in it.
Its a place that if i could i would just bin it.
The agony and pain of their accent is infiinite!
Yabbo yabbo yaboo be dinnit
I pulled a cork bird on a whim
When i got her to bed, she licked my rim.
Then i took out my mickey and rammed it in.
When i shot my load my sperm doth swin
A cork pedo sat in the college sick bay, counting bells knelling classes to a close (heaney)
He wanted to see the young girls walking home like ho’s
He’s a dirty bastard with a fetish for toes
What happened to lucy marie? who knows?
I give up and bow to your poetic genius again
To the administrators: Up yours
Hey flano and WOW.
You got any poetry? I do…
The Farmer’s Lament - by ball ox
I would rather be a poet
Than a man who has to hoe it
To Steamboatsam
Hey Sam
I hear you like GAA, you sham
You sit in the stand eating sambos made with ham
Hey dude, D4 rocks, Up rugby man!
Do you still give a hand job?
Im sitting here thinking, with my hand on my knob
My bird is a fat slob,
Who falls asleep on the job!
Anyway dude, you are a cock and a load of arse
To have you on the forum is folly and farce
Now that Poem is nearly done,
Remember the GAA are scum.
Yours sincerly, ballox - d4 head
I think you’re wrong about the GAA
But right about Sam being gay
His old pair make pornos according to buyer Bandage
He’s got a good record in the Copperage
Whether they were male or female
Only matters on the amount of ale
He likes cocks and tits, muff and arse, bacon and ham
Curiously-Bi and Bi-curious is our Steamboatsam