The bog


Orange paint with dark grey slate

The decorations not too great

Condensation running down

Often makes the public frown


The plug-hole there often blocks

So water covers shoes and socks

Is it water, who can tell?

You will have to please yoursel'


An old man went in the other night

To find the place without a light

After twenty minutes was a shout

"Someone come and let me out"


Then of course there is the smell

On your eyes that will tell

Cause when you walk into the stink

The fumes in there sure make you blink


Here and now I’ll declare

Was me that broke the glass in there

While I was trying to make it fresher

On the window I put pressure


You’ll never wash your hands in there

There aint no basin anywhere

And if body-weight you must taper

Don’t go there, there is no paper


All you people listen to me

Cause if you really need to pee

You’ve my word and my bond

You’re better at the CURLING POND


addendum by Exile

Clarky’s sanitation has got better

Ceramic tiles stopped the walls getting wetter

For when drunken men had a piss

The trough in front they might not miss

But if it splashed on the wall behind

They should have reproached themselves, but please be kind

Their lack of vision and co-ordination

Was brought about by intoxication

For drunken men, since days of yore

Have pissed all over the toilet floor

A fault not found with Stanley men

Who zipped their flies and said….Amen