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Bills and Moon
When the book you’ve bought is battered but it didn’t cost a lot,
and the hooks have all been shattered ‘cos the blurb tells all the plot,
and you look for idle chatter ‘cos your brain’s tied in a knot,
you’re a shattered, battered, chatterbox whose brain has lost the plot.
When it’s better than a natter on a Sunday afternoon,
and the bit of blurb is splattered with a saucy sexy swoon
and you think it doesn’t matter that the author’s a baboon
you’re a shattered, knackered slacker with the latest Mills and Boon.
When the girl is very pretty but is shy and all alone
there’s an earl who’s dark and gritty, or a guy who’s made of stone,
and the pearl that’s in his kitty is a huge testosterone
it’s a bit of nitty gritty with a moral undertone.
When the heroine is crying ‘cos she’s made a big mistake
and she’s very close to dying from the venom of a snake
but the hairy man comes flying with his juicy pound of steak
it’s a wary scary subtext where your dignity’s at stake.
When your reading is exceeding all the other things you do
and you’re pleading with your library to import a ton or two
and you’re reading while you’re breeding and proceeding to be needing the stampeding of a hero who can cock-a-doodle-do….
you’re a pretty, gritty kitty with a stamina of iron
eating buttered, battered booklets with the hunger of a lion
you’ll impress the best assessor from the moon to Cameroon
by your cluttered, clattered
notes on Mills and Boon.