Cock Shop.

There's a Cockfosters in London,

And a Cockle Park in Scotland,

Imagine fostering a cock or parking a cockle?

How do they get their names?

It's insane,

Scotland has quite a few, the North itself has more than two,

I counted, in a car, on the way to Edinburgh,

There was Cockburnspath, which sounds like a chess move,

So smooth,

Like 'bishop takes queen' up the arse,

Then 'cock burns path' with a quick shaft,

Or is it like paper covers rock? Paper covers...cock?

Perhaps it's a game, that sick northern children play in school,

'Cock burns path!'

'Fanny wets doorstep!'

'You win!'

There's also a Cockenheugh, a Cocklevy, a Cockenzie and wait for it, a Cocklaw,

A law, of cocks, how many more?

It doesn't stop there, there's a whole other breed,

There's a tweed, a Tweed Mouth, mouth full of tweed,

A Fishcross, where one assumes fish go who are cross and angry,

A pool of pre-menstrual fishes, cod faced and frowning,

Frustrated and drowning,

There's a Dull in the Highlands but surely that's wrong, surely that should be in Pitsea,

Well, c'mon, SOMETHING should be in Pitsea (that only works in Essex),

There's a California in Falkirk,

Not quite the same though, no,

More Seal Watch than Baywatch, with scotch,

And no David Hasselhoff, more a shirtless Roger McGough,

So I have concluded, obsessively and marginally deluded,

That the people up North, although proud of their docks,

Are also really, very, proud of their cocks.