Stop eating all that chocolate
In fact, you're a half-wit from somewhere or other
Why don't you bog off back to Xanadu in Ireland
You hang around with camera crews in shell-suits
You are bequeathed in suede
You are entrenched in suede
You've got celluloid in your genes dad
You've cut my income by one third
You are working on a video project
And never put your hand in your pocket
You're paging the Malagna in Spain
But can't read between the lines
Your price, cut down is amazing
You're one of the best songs I've ever heard by Stephen King
Your Clearasil produces Richthofen rashes,
Sideboard-like on mountains
Clearasil is in conjunction
You post out sixty-page computer printouts
All the above will come back to you
And confirm you as a damn pest