Silliness on a Friday Morn


Sat here in Hants

In nowt but our pants

We dream of France

(As you do)
It’s not that we’re weird

As we share half a beard;

But, by passers-by 

We are jeered

(Don’t blame them, they know not what they do).
And we’ve nothing to lose

Except our minds and some clues

And that’s why we’re singing the blues.

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