Put my house up on zoopla… But neighbours killed my hoopla… And when I saw their flagpole… It put me off my spag-bol!… These fruits of outdoor kasis… Have joined local bourgoisies… And now turned lavish tippers… Of bin men, and fly tippers…

I just do not understand     I thought there’d be a helping hand     A proper strong supporting arm     To keep you, darling, out of harm    

Roland was a bit down Since his mum asked for a sit down And confessed the man she married Was not him whose child she’d carried And that his real dad was farm-hand Who went by the name of “Armand” And this news was not the greatest He went and got a DNA test

In the depths of Amazonia in the gloomy swamps …That no one plays charades in, picnics, laughs, or romps…