My Mate Jake

My mate Jake reckons it’s great

to turn up for dinner fashionably late

despite us arranging to meet at eight

I’m still staring down at an empty plate

with nothing on which to ruminate

besides how much I fucking hate Jake for making me wait.

The reason I hate Jake for making me wait

lies in his failure to appreciate

that if I’m on time then he should reciprocate

rather than act like a selfish ingrate

so I’ve got no qualms in telling him straight

that there’s fuck all fucking fashionable about being late.

There’s fuck all fucking fashionable about being late

which is something I’d like to reiterate

since we all exist in a temporal state

and the clock clicks on at a constant rate

till the stroke of nine when as if by fate

in strolls Jake my cunt of a mate.

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