A recipe for life
consists of some strife,
a half ounce of good dope,
a girlfriend who can't cope,
include now in your recipe,
a council flat with a long term tenancy,
if you've a tendency
you'd agree,
its a prison not a liberty.
Mix
in equal portions,
of intriguing intellectual
incongruous distortions,
for flavour add
some intriguing dysfunctions,
liberally seeded with
unconscious compunctions,
council tax bills
provide a bland taste,
but backstreet scored pills
get us off our face
distasteful,
wasteful,
the contents
of a wastebin full.
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