I don’t like swimming in the sea
I don’t care what you
say it’s not for me
It’s not that I’m
scared of sharks or eels
Or that I don’t like
how a jelly fish feels
It’s not even because
of stone fish stings
Or the flotsam and
jetsam the tide brings
You may think my
phobia quite absurd
But I can’t be swimming along with a turd
A fact remains a fact
Its logic remains intact
Its basic premise is
unflawed
Even if the fact is
ignored
My pastime is, that I like to Fish
I’d do it all the time
if I got my wish
But my wife hates me
doing it
And she wants me to
stop doing it
I say to her it’s just
my hobby
She says it’s just
plain nobby
I say potato she says potaeto
I say tomato she says
tomaeto
I say it’s just an
innocent pastime
She says next time
should be the last time
I say it is about the
quiet peace
She says it has to
cease
I say it’s
appreciating the stillness
She says it’s a mental
illness
She says I need to get
a life
I think I just need a
different wife
When toward my bed I stumble
My wife greets me with a grumble
“Hello, my little apple crumble”
I say as in her nightgown I fumble
My advances are met with a mumble
“Dearest, my desire is quite humble
A little bit of rough and tumble”
Her reply is yet another mumble
But we did have a Christmas fumble
Before
Well, you look a
little sallow
Right down to the
marrow
What you need is a
drop of sun
In a bottle I have the
very one
Just go into the salon
And you can put some
colour on
After
Well, my dear fellow
You’ve gone a little
yellow
I think a touch too
much
In fact, much too much
Of the prescribed fake
tan
How will you pay Mr
Marzipan?
The hand on the knee
No, the bland of the
tea
Or the stand of the
tree
The gland of the pea
Or the band of the
free
No, the sand of the
flea
The brand of the ski
No, it’s the Land of
the Free
The Sandman's coming
In his train of cars
Think! Tiredness kills
Stop at the next
services
