Real Friends

Real friends, the sort of people you can
Tell your deepest secrets to
That you can wear your underpants
In front of them and not feel ashamed
Real friends are the sort of people you can
Gather 'round a biscuit
Race to see who can make that biscuit soggy
And, again, not feel ashamed
In fact, quite the opposite; proud
Real friends are the sort of people that don’t care
Whether you’ve killed a man
Or whether you’ve crept into the grounds of a
Of a school in the middle of the night
And torched the fucker down
Real friends look beyond the surface
They look at what’s underneath
The blood, the guts, the mucus
The bile, that sort of thing