Butt Monkey Bill
There was butt monkey bill, and what gave him a thrill
Was a tin full of partly smoked ciggies.
He'd carefully pick them from ashtrays and gutters,
Then he'd sit and he'd smoke. He'd mutter and toke.
Bill got his name from that strange face of his,
Like a badly drawn character, straight out of Viz.
With an uncanny resemblance to a chimpanzee,
That had always seemed rather strange to me.
A comb, some scissors, and a couple of weeks
Would be more than enough to reveal those cheeks.
He made psychopathic killers seem positively charming,
And a panic attack extremely calming.
With a nervous twitch like you've never seen,
And eyes that held secrets of what he'd once been.
But when it came down to butt ends, he was simply the best.
A hundred, a thousand, a million's no test.
And when his tin got crammed with butts galore,
He'd go to the park and look for more.
And when the park was done, and he'd finished with town,
With his matches and rizla, he'd sit himself down.
He'd sit and roll, and think about things,
Then he'd skip to the park for a play on the swings.