Britain's Got Talent, yep.
I'm applyin' to do me poetry.
Ode To A Virus
My rugger playing brother bit into a fattish dwarf
I went dahn the wet market and found that bats were orff
Those cuddly tings are cures for bites along with other disheries
Including catmeat morph like fings you can't buy at Macfisheries
The bugger's claiming Mother has a fetish for giraffes
In town her vet said mask 'em but he hangs with the fly-halfs
Their necks are in the news as they are probably a vaccine
I mused on this in sex with bubberly Page 3 model Maxine
Has she done well although her Dad just pulled along a barrow
Stuffed full of balls, mad Bez, a seal - and a massive marrow
"Que?" That's my son Manuel, he lives with someone tricky
Who tries, tells lies, works for the Sun as well.....and what a thicky!
He doesn't know his ROYGBIV and draws weird coloured rainbows
With coquettish tooth marked spivs who smell and cover sprained toes
Their medicines are mongeese based and only soothe the tiny
But in their sinful heads the fleece bits also help the liney
Yet most of them while very old are mainly big time doggers
Each gets out a cod piece to protest against the loggers
Who chop down trees to end the sleaze and give giraffes free gallop
It also helps the bats, the bees, Bez, Maxine and a scallop
Black, red, silver, gold, yellow, orange, puce
A rainbow's never BRSGYOP but what's the use?
I just heard bats are on again, that's fulfilled my wisheries
And pills for the a-tishoos have now ended the a-tisheries
To be a star with Harlequins or Saracens Beijing
While Wunderbar is not as great as having Burger King
For all the gnashers sinking into small folk and their yelps
I get my kicks here in the sticks with Every Lidl Helps
Sonar, farewell, I must be on my way-ee
Auf Wied Pet, et Le Adieu, to belfry for some play-ee
Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens
Yus, these are a few of my favourite kittens
In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps today
Wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh
Wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh
Wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh
...........Auntie Nigel, I've finished my poem now, can I play football?