I am the chappy
Who's seen the bappies
Of a thousand lappy lasses
Clad in all the castle
But probably not the hassle
My kazound's up in the wind
Of a world of pure delight
Bright the world of sin is
Like the finish on some nylon tights
Styled on times gone past
With just a hint of twenty-first century arse
I am the chap who spent a whole damn summer on gin
I got the clap and I lamented
I don't have a plan
Now draw me again (?)
Run to mummy
And then
To the place where I find space
Solace, and grace
Far from the trappings of the rodentile race
Down with the stripes
Save grace and then
Brace myself for whatever may occur
It's the sit-down of champions,
I'm sure you'll concur
If the lure of modern life has become too much
I long for my porcelain crutch and so
I retire to Hermitage Shanks
For a rest and a read
And perhaps a little
If I'm drawing a blank
I give thanks to the tank
When I retire to Hermitage Shanks
Hermitage Shanks, you're my piece of the rock
Down with the britches
Out with the old
Clasp the chain with a couple of yanks
And give thanks
To Hermitage Shanks
When I've overdone it on the sherry
And I'm very merry
With a (???) belly
I can verily assume
I can retire to this room
And resume the job at hand
And then rejoin my merry band
I would give it ten minutes, if I were you
Ten minutes to recover from the shock and ballyhoo
Ballywho did that? Ballyme or ballyyou?
You're (???), obsessed with the poo
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