Ode To Jules (My best friend)

 I know a wimp with a willie like a shrimp and a limp with a hump on his back,
His nose is red, his brain’s half dead and his eyes are glazed and black,
He’s a very odd bod and a strange looking sod, but you shouldn’t feel sorry for him,
For he talks loads of shite just to try and seem bright when in fact he is really quite dim,

I’ve known him for a while and I love his style, the women feel pity for the lad,
So he gets his leg over from Blackpool to Dover, which I’d say on the whole can’t be bad,
I don’t begrudge him this though I often take the piss saying ‘Jules for god’s do not breed,
Your sperm count’s very low, you try, but even so, more like you Mother Nature doesn’t need,’

Now I tell this tale ‘cos I know it cannot fail to give pleasure to his enemies galore,
He’s a whining little shit so he’ll whinge more than a bit, a complete and utter snivelling bloody bore!
Should you see him in the pub, quaffing ale and bolting grub, don’t even give the bastard time o’day,
For he’ll latch onto you just to scrounge a drink or two then leave you with a whopping bill to pay,

With a belch and a fart, he’ll go looking for a tart, for even though he looks it he ain’t gay,
Then he’ll stagger off to bed to nurse his spinning head, and stop to pull his plonker on the way,
With this sorry spate there’s much more I could relate but I fear that I might put you off the lad,
He’s lazy and a liar and his arsehole should catch fire but then alas, I think I'm twice as bad! ;-)