Sticky There was a bloke called Sticky,
Who would sit and moan all day.
If anybody mentioned work,
He'd cry and faint away.
A whinge about no money,
Or the rising cost of food.
But if his wallet had to open,
It would put him in a mood.
He lived just like a miser,
And never offered aid.
He would never take on any task,
If it wasn't richly paid.
Old Sticky sits at home now,
And sings the same old song.
No one listens any more though,
As he groans the whole day long. By Mr A Begg
Belvoir Street, Bolton
Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.
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