Wot, no Betjeman?
Bring me Hunting Gothic Corbels,
Please, dear Santa, on your sledge,
Also, Mackintosh’s Gorbals,
And Lost Views of Wenlock Edge.
Poor old Archie keeps on moulting;
Soon he’ll be a furless bear;
People say he looks revolting,
So bring garments he can wear.
Clothes for me spell needs more flagrant–
As an ancient rhyming ham
I want khaki shorts, all fragrant
With the musky scent of Pam.
But, should this appear too shocking,
You’ll assuage my senile lust
If you leave within my stocking
A blow-up Peggy Purey-Cust!
Last edited by Jerome Betts; 11-28-2013 at 12:07 PM.
Reason: Reordered S1 + tweaks
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