Death of a Salesman

Woolworth's six foot under

Black headscarves sift through town

Where will we buy our hula hoops

Or should we just stand still

Nearly Dead

Wet with sweat

My duvet stinks

Torn Lemsip sachets scattered

My bones all ache

My nostrils flake

My eyebrows are all matted

Dying

Being dead's dead easy

It's dying that's the drag

Death's a good night out I'd say

Though dying's not my bag

Dead Friends

I've been asked around for dinner

To a party flung by ghosts

I murdered them some time ago

They're such neurotic hosts

Batty's Dead

Nora Batty's popped her clogs

The Yorkshire battle axe

On for nigh on forty years

Now she can relax

Telephone

Should I phone you

When you're dead

To find out what's in your head

The Tufty Club

Someone's just been splattered

On the road outside

I cannot even leave the house

Police are everywhere



My car's part of the incident

There's 'matter' on the door

It was an older lady

I threw up when I saw

Fieldwork

Squirrel warfare

Looks hard

Washing lines

Peanuts

Lard

Swung by your tail

At sixty five

To and fro

Whiplash

It's as if it never happened

Some curious tale

Curling as a turd

Absurd as a snail

Three Dead Dads

Taylor's dad Dead

Youngy's dad Dead

Fox's dad Dead

Three dead dads

Dead

Dead

Dead

I once had to dial 999

I once had to dial 999

I once had to dial 999

I once had to dial 999

Brian Clough

We'll all join

Brian Clough

Soon enough