I do not have the answers,
I simply eat the pies,
Which hide from ballet dancers,
Who don’t like flabby thighs.
I do not read the star signs,
For fear of catching ‘flu,
Instead I paint my ley-lines,
In pink and green and blue.
I do not speak Swahili,
To people who are “French”,
It makes them touchy-feely,
Just like a naughty wench.
I do not eat lasagne,
Especially when it’s cold,
I wait until manyana,
Unless it’s grown green mould.
There’s plenty which I won’t do,
And plenty which I will,
And plenty which I don’t do,
In case it makes me ill.
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