Four Fringe Days...

Cobblestones

And raining hard

Mars bars sunk in vats of lard

Kitch rake girls and 'topman' men

I won’t go up to the Fringe again.

More southern tongues than Scottish drawl

Natives out in heels: and fall

Everything’s five stars,  buggar it give ‘em ten!

I won’t go up to the Fringe again

Stage make-up in 2 o’clock stark

With all the leaflets, we could build an ark.

‘There’s too many hills” Fuck off then!

I won’t go up to the Fringe again.

Beers outside in sleet and snow

Shit show, shit show, shit show, shit show.

English money’s looked at like Yen

I won’t go up to the Fringe again

Four hours on tracks, I laughed to bits

On the Royal Mile, acting like twits

Rich Fulcher had us all in fits

Australian drag queens showed us their tits

He had tape on his face and oven mits

Kristen as a whoopee cushion and fully commits

Carrying on dancing when we should have called it quits

Dared to kiss: and twenty one hits!

Champagne, and cupcakes sprinkled in glitz

Airbeds, crepes and Gaelic tidbits

Turning twenty one, nowhere near 'on me sen'

 I might go up to the Fringe again…