A Gong

Groups gather in gritty hangouts
longing just to get their groove on.

Graveyard grievers urge geeky gadflies,
go enjoy young age ergo it's gone.

Giddy groupies gawk at guitarists
grinding songs of grief and grunge.

They grab the aging singers gear
Like ghoulish gangsters gripping guns.

Guys get greedy gulping Guinness
Lager girds them to the gills.

They growl disgusting gross suggestions
from grinning ghetto gold-toothed grills.

With grinding groins and groping fingers
among disgusted girls they mingle.

Aghast, their targets gasp rejection
as ghastly gaudy gold chains jingle.

Go on, ignore the urgent message
give no regard to banging gongs

Like a geezer stroking his graying goatee
life is going, going, going, gone.

The End

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