My Mum sponsored me a tenner, and left me a comedy limerick:
A moustache is a way to donate.
But remember the food on your plate,
when eating your food,
take care now, you dude
and don’t let the crumbs be your fate.
My sister, not to be outdone, did the same (both on the tenner and poem front):
I heard you’re trying to raise a stash,
by growing a handlebar ‘tash.
But remember, when you’re through,
The Village People may kidnap you
and make you dance YMCA for cash!!
Thing is about my family, they’re a competitive bunch and, well, my Mum came back again!
Mum, over to you…
A man whose moustache looked a fright
Was OK till he went out at night
when out came the moon
The girls they did swoon
then screamed when he turned on the light
A man who liked to drink gin
Grew a ‘tash that was long & quite thin
It wasn’t a joke
when, like a sponge, it did soak
& his glass had nothing left in!
A man who ate lots of goulashes
Had a ‘tash that was made of eyelashes
It fluttered each day
in quite a good way
But the glue gave him lots of red rashes.
A man wearing jeans colour RED !
Wanted a moustache to match (he once said).
He dyed it quite bright
and thought he’d done right
but he stopped the traffic instead
A man down in Maida Vale way
Grew a moustache that helped him portray
the man that he is
all Whatley & whizz
And the rest – well I shouldn’t say!
Amazing. Lost for words really.. Grinning, but lost for words.
They’ve donated, you should too.