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Sarashell

Let's start a new column.

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T'was on a Sunday morning that 

I went out on my velo,

Twice around the block I went

And then I met this follow,

 

He said why don't you join a club,

That seemed a good idea,

So to the Saracen I did go,

And then it all came clear,

 

It all seemed so much easier,

Riding in a pack,

Going round the country side,

Sitting on the back,

 

And then I went and rode a race,

It was very fast,

As we got to the finish line,

They all came flying past,

 

Friends would help me fix my bike,

When it needed mending,

So then it was back on the road,

With very little spending,

 

So if like me you ride a bike,

But haven't got a clue,

Why don't you come and join our club ? 

We'll show you what to do.

????‍♀️

 

 

 

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Cannot compete with John ,but 

 

There was an old cyclist called Fidgit

Who only had one big bit !!

Whose  only claim to fame was his belly

 Which is why he's so much slower than Shelley.

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There was a mileater called Pardoe

Decided one day he would Fargo

No one on he beach

and the sea out of reach

Home it was time

To return go

Turn left and right

Quite out of sight

Down round a corner

Up steep hill

what d'ya know

It's back to Bournville.

 

 

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I thought today was about the time,

To sit and write another rime,

I haven't written one for a wile,

And so I'll try and make you smile.

 

My friend, she had a puncture,

We fixed it very quick,

But them she had another one,

She was feeling a little bit sick,

But after the third and fourth ones,

She made a bit of a fuss,

She threw the bike over the hedge,

And went home on the bus.

 

This was inspired by a certain person, she knows who she is.

 

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There was a young Hindu named Ghandi

Who went to a bar for a shandy

With his great loin cloth

He wiped off the froth

and the barman said ‘blimey that’s handy’

                                                 

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