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Piccadilly Pam

Piccadilly Pam,
 Works in a cafe ,serving spam,
And beans,to builders in green vests,
 All tattooed necks,and hairy chests.
 She wakes at five a.m,each morning.
  Leaves her work shy husband snoring.
  She`s at the end of her long tether,
  After thirty years together
  She leaves for Piccadilly station,
 Where the guards are all impatiently,
 Coralling sleepy travellers,
 Shop workers,bank managers.
 Beauticians caked in make up.
Tired school children,yet to wake up.
Coppers in siZe thirteen boots.
 Salesmen in bright ,shiny suits.
They`ll all come sample Pams delights,
 Full English,pot of tea,fried slice.
Cheesey baked potatoes,
Served with,smutty innuendoes.
 As she stands there,at the counter,
She`s adjusting the amount her
 Blouse ,will show to all her customers.
 Proud of how well this bust of hers is known.
Written by DaveBarlow
Published
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