he gave for naught, He was round the bend. And those final words on which he choked, We will have the last laugh at that joke, Yes F to good and bad, just give us perfumes to block our biased stench, His words came out of his bleedin' arsehole" (Cough), "If you'll excuse my French" A bad day for the news hence his spread Its got to be bad to report the dead Twas his smile that caught me though he'd put on weight I think I'll dream of him tonight at heavens gate, Saying, "I see it as merely inevitable That I've reached the final stop The bus of life ran out of fuel I lost my head, I laughed it off". I'm told the world is round, that I don't need to see it for myself I missed my 'O' levels because I could not will myself To keep one eye focused on big print Couldn't get ambitious about graft So as time ticks over I begin to try and educate myself I know what's on the cards so let's start to worry about health Buy the book of medicinal big print Take direction from the old big print I'm told that modern culture is digging a grave for itself By a group who look as though they have risen from that grave themselves Punching paper printed with big print Nice pale paper with motifs in big print But give me black and white I got the slightest