With a street full of blokes, lots of choice to be had
There’s a few that are dodgy, but others aren’t bad;
Something for every taste, every age and persuasion,
Every colour and size – mostly pastey Caucasian.
There’s our Liam of course, whom I’d have in two tics,
Or our leprechaun Ashley, if stood on two bricks.
Maybe Steve, Mr. Niceguy – Or Jerry the teddy…
But the former’s too nice and the latter too sweaty.
Natty Harry is bitter, and Dan slightly kinky,
Tyrone a tad fuzzy, and Tony too slinky.
Jason’s pretty to look at but needs lots of feeding,
and the Caf’s daily specials still pass for deep reading.
No, the sweetie for me, educated and mellow
Likes a club or a crossword, a versatile fellow.
He’s sincere and has jokes, and he wears little vests
And a wee purple teeshirt – the one I like best.
Just one tiny obstacle stands in the way
Namely I’m not a bloke and our Marcus is gay.
I’m not very erotic, and no, I’m not blonde
But I do neurotic much better than Sean.
He’s so low-key and lovely, he never goes mental;
Supportive and thoughtful – not too sentimental.
So my sonogram hunk, if you ever switch channels
You’ll find me at home with my popcorn and flannels.