by | Feb 20, 2009 | Poetry | 0 comments

Cones appearing everywhere
An Army of them now
Called up on ‘ Conescription ‘
To take their sacred vow

To hassle all us drivers
To make us swear and curse
To block the roads and slow us down
To make our journeys worse

I phoned the new ‘ Cone hotline ‘
I said , to cone a phrase
“ They’re scattered on the highway,
Forming some strange maze “

Their office, run by cone heads
Wont listen to my plea
I’m stuck inside this traffic jam
And desperate for a Pee

Those pointed little rubber things
Are making my life Hell
They dominate the motorways
Dual-carrigeways as well

A Government ‘ Conespiracy ‘
To wear us drivers down
From in The House of Comics
Led by Gordon Brown

So I’m heading off the highways
Cross-country I will roam
Returned to home and sanity
‘Cause ‘ There’s no place like Cone ‘


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