Petrol Company
THE C.S.M
THE C.S.M
There were upturned whiskers on the face,
Of a strangely ginger hue,
And a horrid look of grim distaste,
That made me feel quite blue.
Before my face it reared its head,
A head that turned quite pink,
And a voice from through the whiskers said,
‘Your denims simply stink!’