Preening in pedestrian precinct
half-clad crop of skinny crumpet.
Coarse spun spurts of raucous laughter,
leering lads they’re lusting after.
Lipstick drawn on baby faces
squirted scent in private places.
No wistful wish for 6th Form college,
busy studying carnal knowledge.
Epitomising hideous taste, tracksuit bottoms on a fifty waist.
Top with foreign player’s names on,
backside built to land small planes on.
Hips set wider yet and wider,
thong could catapult a glider.
Waistline muscles badly wasted,
no fish shop’s chips are left untasted
no healthy aspect to this visit.
Scarborough’s changing -
Really? Is it ?