Hipsters, Glasgow
There go the hipster boys on a Friday night
With their Harris Tweed jackets, two sizes too tight
Their cleated brogues clicking down the street
They could be gamekeepers, but they don’t eat meat
And those silk cravats are what some laird might wear
Same as that floppy fringe, Old Etonian hair
And those Biblical beards their weak chins sprout
They have to practise eating before they go out
Chinese food can mean their dignity’s loss
With follicles dripping sweet and sour sauce
I’ve spoken with their girlfriends, and they all say
Their kisses can taste like an entire buffet.
No comments:
Post a Comment