Father, dearest Father, my bloody car won't start,
tried everything dear good Papa from taking it apart
to thrashing it with birch twigs, even filling it with petrol
but the fucking thing just sits there - enough to drive me mental!
So I need a teensy favour Dad, perhaps you could come over?
Feel really bad to put on you, I know it's such a bother
but you've always been a wizard when the frigging thing won't go -
like I said, you've fixed it, you're a genius you know!
Sometimes, life can be a bitch, metaphorically speaking,
or to put it more succinctly I've been nicked for sodding speeding.
Trouble is, that Jag V12 went like the ruddy clappers -
no surprise the engine's shot, now it's good as bloody knackered!
Which leaves me in a quandary, must admit I'm quite perplexed,
please don't lose your temper Dad - my word you do looked vexed!
The problem is I'm stony-broke and if you'd put up the money
to pay my fine, I'll pay you back ¦ as long as there's no hurry.
My poor, long-suffering Father, know I set your senses reeling
but if I could appeal to you, when you climb down off the ceiling,
please, feel free to chide me, I'll gladly do my penance,
deny me what you feel you must ¦ excepting my inheritance!
