As I was out walking in Corry’s Field, whistling a merry tune,
A young one in her fifties whizzed past me in full bloom.
Who was that beautiful girl, I thought, out on this lovely day
With her slender hips, and her wobbly arse, leading my mind astray.
I thought, if I walk faster and quickened up my pace,
Slip across the shortcut, I’d meet her face to face.
So I headed towards the bushes, and straightened up my tie,
Buttoned up my waistcoat, to look good as she passed by.
I could see her coming towards me; her hair was loose and fair,
The tattoo on her naval, showed a butterfly in mid air.
Then she moved in close, there was something about her eyes,
Something about that twinkle, I thought I recognised.
“What’s a pretty girl like you, doing out here all alone?
Are you looking for your boyfriend, or can I escort you home?
Then she started giggling, like there was something I should know,
“Do you not recognise me, Mac,” she said. “I’m your old friend Joe”
“Joe,” I said, “What have you done? Was the operation sore?”
“A sex change, Joe, at your age. Does it mean I wont have to listen to your poetry anymore?
You know, up close he didn’t look too bad, though one breast was out of twist.
If I didn’t know him the way I do, I’d have sworn the guy was pissed.
Then I had to ask the question. It was difficult, I suppose.
It’s a question that’s often asked. What did he do with his old clothes?
Now the moral of the story is: when your friends are led astray,
You can always turn the blind eye, or simply walk away.