Memories of Worthing, the Pensioner's Paradise

People think that Worthing (in Sussex, godforsaken county
rent in twain by bureaucratic gerrymandering democracy)
Is a nice, genteel (or do I mean Gentile? bugger me, I get confused),
Retirement town on England's lovely rainy southern coast,
Where the glorious, world-famous gritty shingle beach
Is an invitation to raunchy naturism at its rawest and bravest.
O glorious and wondrous borough of Worthing (and its elegant suburbs)
Where every single discotheque is equipped with a stairlift and ramp
To accommodate the horniest and randiest pensioners in the entire EU.
But anyone who thinks that is the case is probably a silly brainless git).

I was sitting on a deckchair, meditating (wearing a frown and a frock),
With my perverted Great Aunt Gerald (just released from Pentonville)
Listening to the tuneless outpourings of HM Royal Marines Conscripts' Band
Combined with a display from a Dr Barnardo's blind orphans ballet troupe,
When, would you bloody well believe it (no, I bleeding wouldn't),
A rusty charabanc disgorged a torrent of foul-mouthed vegetarian dykes
With horrid left-wing affectations, all totally pissed on vodka and lime.

To my deep amaze, this aggressive minge-munching brigade of
Wicked hirsute biddies savaged my dear fat Gerald real brutal
(mainly because he was bollock-naked and playing with himself
in a caring, yet blatantly bisexual and gaily cavalier manner and
his weakly spurting seed had made an unseemly splodge on the prom).

I yelled out, "Oy, what the fuck are you up to, you hairy whores?"
But when they turned real deep-and-dirty hard aggressive,
I knew discretion beat valour hands down, yessirree, make no mistake,
So I buried my noble head in my copy of the previous day's "Daily Mail",
Whilst they beat the holy living shite out of old Aunty Gerry.
Then I attended her lonely funeral rites the following week
(nota bene: the chapel smelled of stale urine which was unseemly);
And I was quite pleased (I suppose) when the weather improved
In the interim twixt his/her death and interment, so
I could sunbake some of the scabs off my shoulders. But:-
Dear God, Worthing and its environs can get knotted henceforth, so say I.