The tramps have started grooving.
I do not approve.
When they bodypop
It makes me itch.
I saw a vagabond in a tweed coat
Spinning on his head
Making his damp trilby go all flat.
I did not like that.
I went up to him
And punched him in the solar plexus
In the name of British dignity.
He toppled over and was sick
And I left
To post a letter
Dancing a little
And humming Elgar.
