Maggot’s Pong : 16 stanzas each of 4 lines about a tall tale concerning Maggot Bourke’s body odour.
Our fingers whitened round our beers,
Tanned faces turning pale
As old Bob joined us at the bar
And bought himself an ale.
Swift glances leapt from face to face
But we knew it was too late.
So we waited for the tale old Bob
Would remorselessly relate.
“There’s an awful pong outside,” he said,
While downing half his drink,
“And it’s brought to mind big Maggot Bourke
And cripes that bloke did stink!