I’m skint.
I’ve blown the cobwebs off the spare-change hen and had a closer squint,
But the nearest thing to coppers I can find are tiddlywinks,
So I’m smoking dog-end roll-ups and they don’t half flaming stink.
There must be some way I can get some cash, but what I just can’t think,
Although my bank manager suggested that I start a home-made mint,
I said, “I haven’t got the cash to buy the bits, you stupid bint
And that’s because I’m bloody, bleeding, blasted, bogging, blooming skint!”


10 responses to “Skint

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