According to the press, it’s high season for stag and hen week-ends. No longer is a simple evening out enough, it has turned into a mini-break designed to outdo the last one! Poor old Blackpool has come in for some stick recently having apparently taken over the mantle of Hen/Stag HQ, from Riga (somewhere in the Baltic, since you asked!). No longer is it ‘Kiss Me Quick’ on the seaside hats but ‘Quick Be Sick!’. Every generation has had its Achilles Hell, without which the tabloids would carry no news! So here’s to Hens, Stags (and Asprin!)…
My friend’s not speaking to me any more,
He’s very cross, his bride is sore,
I don’t really know what to say,
It wasn’t only me who spoilt their day.
It wasn’t me, I thought it was you,
Who put him on that train for Crewe!
I thought you’d checked that he had money,
At the time we thought it was so funny.
But I felt my stomach lurch,
When he didn’t turn up for his bride to church.
Apparently we are all to blame,
For putting him on the northern train.
She also says we’re ‘rebel rousers’,
For leaving him without his trousers!
I’m quite sure it’ll settle down,
But until then we’d better leave town!
Lucy Locket, sick in her pocket
Like a fish did flounder!
Tried to stand without support
of her drunken friends around her!
Little Boy Blue,
Asleep on the lawn,
He’s feeling poorly and all forlorn!
Where is the groom that is marrying today?
Still on the bench and far away!
Little Bo Peep,
Dressed up as a sheep,
On her back a large red L!
She will go home,
No more shall she roam
Tomorrow her head will be hell!
Jack and Jill
Both fell ill
On a stag and hen weekend!
Jill fell down
Ripped her bridal gown
And Jack’s still in Southend!
Please do not try this at home, serving suggestion only!
© Baldock Bard 2013
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