Father’s Day

I’m glad I don’t have children and don’t celebrate Father’s Day,

So I don’t have to say I like the gifts that come along my way,

The starchy shirts, the puke-green socks, that stuff for cleaning cars,

And all the eager faces saying, Dad, we’ve bought you land on Mars.

 

I never have to feign delight at books about Top Gear,

Or have to eat what kids have cooked, a parent’s greatest fear,

I don’t get jars of after shave that smell of cat urine,

Or have to tell my eager brood that I like the tie just fine.

 

So, keep your tins of toffee bits and lotions to make me tingle,

For when you mention Father’s Day, I can safely say, I’m single.

Father’s Day Blues

Why do father’s have their day, when it’s not the other way,
Why don’t they have a day for all us sons?
And instead of toast in bed, they bring us tea instead,
And take us to the bakers’ for cream buns?

Why don’t daughters get a shot, of their mater’s party frock,
And perhaps a hundred knicker for the bar?
Instead of flowers and chocs, why not a serious jewellery box,
And a decent Porsche or other motor car?

So, please, parents, have your day, take the flowers, booze away,
Sit up and have your tea in bed,
Then designate a day, to do it t’other way,
And buy your cards and stuff for kids instead.