At Woolton village fete I met him
I was a fat schoolboy and
As he leaned an arm on my shoulder
I realised that he was drunk we were
Twelve then, but, In spite of his sideboards
We went on to become teenage pals
Aunt Mimi, who had looked after him
Since he was so high, used to tell me how he
Was cleverer than he pretended, and
Things like that he had written a
Poem for the school magazine
About a hermit who said: "as
Breathing is my life
To stop I dare not dare"
This made me wonder right away "Is he
Deep?" he wore glasses so it
Was possible, and even without them there
Was no holding him "What ’bus?"
He would say to howls
Of appreciative laughter
He went to Quarry Bank High School
For Boys and later attended
To the Liverpool Art College he
Left school and played with
A group called the Beatles, and
Here he is with a
Book again I think "Is he deep?" "Is he arty
With it or cultured?" there are bound to be
Thickheads who will wonder
Why some of it doesn’t make sense
And others who will search
For hidden meanings "What’s a Brummer?"
"There’s more to ‘dubb owld boot’
Than meets the eye"
"None of it has to make sense and
If it seems funny then that’s enough" paul
PS i like the drawings too