Chrissie's poetry.
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   Well, over the years we have seen many a pop star, in Britain, of course,
   the real explosion started with the Beatles, but Elvis, Sir Cliff, and others
   came before, now we have Eminem, Boyzone, Spice Girls etc. Beware,
   for every star that makes number one, there are hundreds, thousands
   that don't...
   Talking About...Pop Music.  
Classical jazz rock rythm, and blues
Gyrating hips, and blue suede shoes
Rappers that use a tongue of their own
Bye bye to the blackbird that's already flown

A powerful 'Plant' who belts out his song
Punk rockers stand, and shout to their throng
A man called Alice, on the piano there's Rolf
And after the show a quick round of golf

There's Hootie, and Blowfish, a Crow that's called Sheryl
Rock Stars, with drugs, put their lives in peril
On the guitar 'Slowhand's' no slouch
And a route to the studio, via the 'couch'

Divas who sing with voices of silk
Country, and folk perform for their ilk
Harmonica fiddle, and guitars that slide
Groupies, and fans along for the ride
Keyboards that mimic most every sound
Computers are the latest thing that they've found
To widen the range of notes they can use
The latest sounds that are hitting the news

Girls that are spicy, and boys in a zone
Ballads lament those left all alone
All aim to be the world's number one
But all I want to do is have me some fun
                                                            Witchy-Poo.
     Witch-Poo was written for a former friend, who is psychic, and a white witch, she  once predicted that I would be rich, and famous, but in the words of the Diana Ross hit,of many years ago, I'm Still Waiting..........

      With kind of witch is out Witchy-Poo
          She's got no warts, and she's not ugly too
               She's no pointy hat, and no cauldron black
                    And always up for a really good crack
                         In her new street in her gingerbread house
                              With a tall red chimney, and a resident mouse
                                   In her garden is an old wishing well
                                        Where she'll toss in a coin, and conjure a spell
                                             People have called her a dyke, and a dog
                                                  But all I know is, I once was a prince, but now I'm a frog
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