The Life On A Melon
Poem By Mark Philpott
Walking through the bushes, looking at the Ling's thrushes
I saw the melons in the distance, and i said shhhhhhushes.
He was conceived on a boat to Milan,
That went off course, and was finally delivered in the back of a van.
He's the chinky, with a small winky, conceived on melons
the crate of fate, his face is a date, or could it be lemons.
The sperm made its way, through some hay, in which the melons sat.
But when he came out, he said with a shout, 'Hey, Philpotts fat'