You may think as we Cornish folk be a bit thick. “Well you know the pub?” he asked. Sex “Pimps, what controls prossies,” I corrected him, “Them just sleeping it of mate.”
“Well we have had a complaint,” the copper continued. Coppers looked nervous. “One and a two and an One, Two, Three,” we chanted as he got into the rhythm. “They’re going to fucking kill me,” the girl muttered, “Doing all these freebies.”
“Well come down Corn Wall along wi us,” Denzil Senior suggested. Bloody ton for a bit of a fumble. “It goes to Fishguard via Bristol,” some smarmy git smirked. So we went down the Pub, They wanted three quid for a glass of water, and the beer was like weasel piss. He weren’ stupid enough to refuse, him being outnumbered thirteen to one and all that. “That’s right, Primps or some such.” he added. “Right lets sing the Floral Dance,” Old Denzil Senior ordered. They didn’t get far so they rammed it up her well used cunt. “Then she’s a fucking idiot,” she replied. Anyroad us had to wedge the patform gates open as they didn’t reckon much to us not having tickets, and hailed a bus to get us down the West End.
