[metalsuede]

You should avoid this place, because some very unsavoury characters drink there. One in particular, David Gillespie, AKA Dave the Poet is a real nasty piece of work. In addition to being a pathological liar and a cheat, he is also an alcoholic. Hense he spends most of his time propping up the bar in here, drinking his body weight in any booze he can get his hands on, like Falkirk's answer to Oliver Reed. Only fatter. And minus the talent.

At Last – The Truth

My name is Dave Gillespie
I like to tell a lie
And all my bullshit stories
Are pie in the sky

Don’t ask me why I tell them
I really don’t know why
And if I gave a reason
It would surely be a lie

Attention-seeking drama queen
I like to treat women like absolute dirt
I made a pass at my best friend’s girl
Scumbags? I am the worst!

Alcoholism is lots of fun
I drink beer at eleven AM
I lie to my family, I lie to women
I even lie to my friends

I like to cheat on women
I’m as filthy as a bog
I’ve been around the block more times
Than a tramp’s flea-ridden dog

And if I give jewels and trinkets to you
I’ll tell you they’re diamonds through and through
But they’re actually cubic, dirty and cheap
Which the pawnbroker laughed at – (read it and weep)

I have illnesses which no-one can name
(I can’t even name them myself)
A pathetic bid for attention
Another lie which I’ve freely dealt

If you think I’m a student then ask to see
The little card called my ‘student ID’
Alas, I don’t have one, I never did
Another lie from poisonous lips

I poison everything I touch
Everyone leaves me eventually
I’ve a string of exes who hate my guts
I’m a lying bastard – it’s plain to see!

I’m a sad, self-pitying fool
Who likes to feel sorry for number one
I’ve been beaten silly by lots of folks
I’m the biggest liar under the sun

I’m a scrounging pig, I steal CDs and rings
Which do not belong to me
I get girlfriends to buy me thousands of drinks
Until I’m more drunk than Oliver Reed

I cheat on this one, I cheat on that one
I can’t keep it in my pants
But I claim to be a puritan saint
I know nothing about romance

Romance to me is to sit in the pub
And drink until my shit is blue
And in the morning I like to think
Of lots more ways to lie to you

I like to quote philosophers
Although I’m as thick as two short planks
I mock the way my girlfriends look
(Although I’ve an arse like a German tank)

I make my way around all the girls
Who drink in Firkins pub
Twenty lies here, forty lies there
Sleazy hands on shoulders rub

I also have a motorbike
Which no-ones ever seen
Study philosophy at Uni
(Although I’ve never been)

“I’m a qualified sniper
A martial arts expert too”
I’d like to be a tortured genius
But my brain cells are too few

I profess to be a poet
But my poetry is piss
And anything I try to write
Won’t be as good as this

I’m not a poet, I never was
I lied about that as well
The only thing left for me to do
Is to rot in the flames of hell

If you’re smart, you’ll run, run like the wind
Before I mistreat you too
And if there is justice in this world
I’ll get exactly what I’m due

Every story has a moral
And this is the moral of mine
If you want to be respected
Don’t be a lying swine