Baby Factory


When I was growing up she lived two blocks away,

We’d spend our summer hols helping each other play.

In 1984 I was the grand old age of six,

We went into a field, that’s where we shared our first ‘kiss’.

As children we were rude and we’d compare our naughty bits,

But we had no reasons to talk by the time that she’d grown tits.

It seemed like giving blowjobs was why she went to school,

But only to the older lads, the ones that she found ‘cool’.

Older than me by just one year, it seemed like many more,

Fifteen years old and pregnant, parents called her a whore.

By the time I got a job, she’d had her second child,

The others in her class were on the town and running wild.

Before the age of twenty one came baby number three,

My childhood sweetheart, the ‘baby factory’.

Today she’s now got all she wants and all she’ll ever need,

A family that adores her, half a dozen mouths to feed.

OK so she looks fifty when she’s not yet thirty one,

Gave up letting her hair down, had to give up having fun.

She holds down two jobs but can’t afford a beer.

Her third husband’s in the Army, she sees him thrice a year.

I suppose she must be happy with how she now exists

But she never smiles to show it. Not even to her kids.