[Rob Stuart]

That's a good start, John.

In Norfolk folk are vile and base,
They’re foul of heart and foul of face
And make this unappealing place
A living hell.

Their sordid taste for incest shows
In supernumerary toes.
A local with just two of those
Is doing well.

They spend the damp and dreary days
In philistinic, bumpkin ways
Like using books of Shakespeare’s plays
As toilet roll.

And even though these missing links
May like their county’s country stinks,
The out-of-towner gags and thinks
That it’s a hole.