Ok, I confess...

to being a hairy-arsed, smelly fella            
a resigned, belching, farting, grubby Vet'          
who's seventy-six-year-old eyeballs, yella'd          
with ginned jaundice the nearer death I get,            
           
I muse, picking my toes with a finger        
and sniffing that sweet smell of gross excess,            
rolling from my pit where a smell lingers            
of something dubious, a late night guest?            
           
Not! some cheeky, crusading, chubby lass,            
a junior oik in a provincial rag,            
who doesn't get bylines just dirty tasks            
like BMD's & Obit's, it's a drag,            
           
Yah!, I cribbed those from the  ' Daily Express  '            
There! That's a double, " Ok, I confess..."