Leather chaps, cellulite,
Friday nite is stripper nite,
She calls herself Dyna Might,
And looks alright in a tinted light.
She straddles John,
In a Primark thong,
and gets her dirty groove thing on,
Nobody mentions the elastics gone,
And from where he’s sat there’s a bit of a pong.
With absent eyes and Marlboro breath,
She tries to shimmy him to death,
Her popped balloon bazooms batter his bald head –
Till we give her a fiver to fuck off instead.
