Mophead so called so is
Wanders from bar to bar
Prattling from person to person
With always that axeblade grin
Old coins in his wig for you
And only you for sale
His pasty skin glimmers
Green on the pub strip
A sea of green bottles
Swing in his overcoat
His eyes in every one
He touches a lady's face
She done up something holy
She disappears up her jumper
A hissing noise from within
Hubby rises from his stool
Skin lacquering toy red
Jawline squaring teeth folding
Mophead has made his street
A brand new postbox
Brimming with angry letters
Feel him answer every one
