Ain't it a scrote
When you're pushing out that boat
After 21 years have past.
Isn't it a mother
When you're forced to down another
And you don't know how much longer you can last.

You pause and reflect,
Remember people you have met,
Friendships you have lost and made.
You then freeze in fear
As you stare into your beer,
You're well and truly in your third decade.

Bearing that in mind
You will now tend to find
People treating you as a sensible adult.
You're a lady not a miss,
Not allowed out on the piss,
Your whole life is now your own fault.

So now you're 21,
You're as mature as they can come,
A person to be respected not cajoled.
But as you stare into your alcoholic scrying pool
You muse, ponder, think. Say,
"Bollocks to it all,
Tonight I'm going to get arseholed."

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